Beyond the Glass, Through the Rain
by Isabelle Ashmore
Summary: AU. The Empire has risen. Ahsoka is an Imperial princess, sister of Anakin Skywalker—whom the rest of the galaxy calls Emperor Vader. After a severe head injury, she remembers nothing of her past. But what will happen when, with the help of the Empress Padmé, Ahsoka rediscovers her Jedi history…and rebellion is born?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! Thank you for your interest in _Beyond the Glass, Through the Rain_. A few notes before we begin:**

 **1\. As you all know, I do not own Star Wars. This is a work of fanfiction.**

 **2\. The characters in this story are going to seem OOC for the first few chapters; however, this is a conscious decision I made for plot purposes, and I promise everything will make sense later on! After we get past the preliminary chapters, they will become their canonical selves again, especially Ahsoka.**

 **3\. I do _not_ condone the words and actions of characters such as Anakin/Vader and Erosik. Though it should be pretty self-explanatory while reading, they are intended as clear examples of what _not_ to do.**

 **4\. If you enjoy symbol-hunting while reading, then yes, the title is symbolic. If you _don't_ enjoy symbol-hunting, you don't need to pay attention to the symbolism in order to understand the plot. ;)**

 **I hope you enjoy the story! :)**

* * *

Rain, because of weather control, was rare on Coruscant, but hardship still beat down upon the people with the same merciless intensity. Every day on the city planet had become a sort of solemn dance—go here, keep your eyes down, go there, don't talk to others because you could be conspiring, get your work done, stay quiet, remain unremarkable. Such was the case for almost every citizen of the Galactic Empire—including the Imperial princess.

She watched this dismal scene every morning with no idea whatsoever that it was dismal. From her window, the entire city appeared pleasant, harmonious, like functioning clockwork. One of her handmaidens stood behind her, wrapping a diamond headpiece around her montrals. Another applied something shimmery to her lips. The princess hardly noticed either of them.

The door swung open from behind her, and both of the handmaidens whipped around. Instantly, they collapsed to their knees with two distinct _thuds_. The princess knew what this meant. She climbed out of her chair and slid onto her knees as well, touching her forehead to the floor.

A long moment passed. Then the click of boots sounded against the hardwood floor. The clicks grew louder, stopped again. "Get up, Ahsoka."

The princess remembered her name was Ahsoka. She got up. Emperor Vader—no, he had told her to call him Anakin—was staring at her with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. "Come on, then," he said impatiently, gesturing for her to follow him.

She did. He sat on her bed and she did, too. Then he withdrew a needle from the case he was holding. She stiffened. The very presence of the needle was a silent order. Ahsoka knew what he wanted. She sat obediently as Anakin injected the needle into her upper arm, biting her lip to keep herself from flinching. She had learned how to do that out of necessity.

At last, he yanked it from the muscle and tugged her to her feet. "Come on, then." He said that a lot, Ahsoka knew. It was one of the only things he ever said to her.

She followed him out of her chambers, into the turbolift that rang with off-key chimes, through an extravagant hallway still painted with early-morning darkness. As usual, she felt the eeriness of the Imperial Palace rattle her bones, pristine and silent. A hush had settled over the entire building, like the quiet that rings in the air after a prolonged scream.

On their way to the dining hall, she and Anakin passed an oil painting, and Ahsoka paused. She knew and liked this oil painting, because Anakin had talked to her about it before.

* * *

"That was your father," he had said, standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders. At the time, it had only been a few days since her awakening, so this was new information. The painting depicted two middle-aged strangers, a Togrutan man and a human woman draped in velvet and precious gemstones. " _Our_ father. He used to rule this Empire, before…"

Anakin's voice thickened with sorrow, and he looked to the ground in what Ahsoka interpreted as near despair. "Before _what_?" she prompted. This, of course, was before she learned to just let him talk, to refrain from asking too many questions.

He met her eyes anyway. "They were killed in the same attack in which you lost your memory."

"Oh," Ahsoka said.

They lapsed into silence for a moment. Finally, Anakin spoke. "You remind me sometimes of our mother. Obviously, you took after your father in appearance, but you always shared a personality with Shmi. She was quiet, demure. You're like that, too. I like that about you."

* * *

Anakin and Ahsoka entered the dining hall, where only one other person was waiting. Both that other person and Ahsoka had to stand until Anakin had seated himself, as though some invisible eye were present to observe the formalities. But Anakin and Ahsoka's father had always found those formalities important. So it was imperative that they hold true to them.

Ahsoka sat down at the same time as the Empress Padmé. She did not know much about the Empress Padmé, other than the fact that she should always call her "Empress Padmé" and never just "Padmé", at the insistence of Anakin. She _was_ rather mysterious, Ahsoka supposed; on occasion she caught the empress watching her, but always from afar. She never seemed to want to associate with her. That was okay, of course. That was the empress's right. Besides, she had given Ahsoka an adorable niece and nephew, Princess Leia and Prince Luke, so she really couldn't begrudge the Empress Padmé her secrecy.

It was rare for them to talk to each other while eating. Anakin had to be the one to start the conversation, and he was usually just focused of shovelling food into his mouth and moving on to whatever very-important-thing he had to do next. But today, he clicked his spoon against his glass and announced peremptorily, "I'm going to arrange a marriage for Ahsoka."

Ahsoka's heart lurched in surprise, but she did not react. Empress Padmé, on the other hand, dropped her fork. It clattered against her porcelain plate noisily. "Anakin, no," she said. She was the only one who was allowed to talk back to the emperor. "She's only seventeen."

"Eighteen soon," Anakin declared.

"She shouldn't have to get married at age eighteen."

"Why not? I married you at nineteen."

Empress Padmé narrowed her dark eyes. When she picked up her fork, Ahsoka noticed that her hand was trembling. "That was a choice we made together. Not something we were forced into."

"'Forced into'?" Anakin scoffed. "Come on, Padmé. This is going to make her happy. Right, Ahsoka?"

Ahsoka nodded, but she wasn't particularly focused on Anakin and Empress Padmé's conversation. Her lips tingled now because of the shimmery gloss the handmaiden had applied to them. She glanced up at her water glass and, from across the table, accidentally met the eyes of the empress. Her gaze was like hot glue. Ahsoka feared she wouldn't be able to rip away her own until she exerted the right amount of energy.

At last, she managed. At the same time, Anakin stood and strode toward the doors, his cape sweeping out behind him. "Where are you going?" asked the Empress Padmé. Anakin replied that he had more important things to be doing right now and left the girls alone.

Ahsoka watched him as he left. A cylindrical object bounced comfortably against his hip. Not for the first time, she wondered what it was.

* * *

Ahsoka had inquired about that cylindrical object before. Anakin had told her not to ask too many questions.

* * *

 **Hey, everyone! Thanks for reading the first chapter! You may be here if you've already read Discovery. I have actually decided to edit that story so that the entire work is set in the SW galaxy, with brief flashbacks to Earth. (Please see my profile for more information.) Therefore, I will be taking a break from posting chapters for that story for the next little while so that I can work on editing it. But I will leave up the old version on the site until I post the new one.**

 **That being said, I have decided to post this story in the meantime to give you all something else to read. This idea has been bouncing around in my head for awhile, so I hope you like it. :)**

 **Unfortunately, I do not have a strict posting schedule for this story yet. Editing Discovery is my main priority right now, so updates may be slightly irregular, especially once school starts up again. But if you liked this first chapter or are at least intrigued, reviews may or may not motivate me to write faster...**

 **-Isabelle ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for following, everyone! :)**

* * *

Sometimes, when Ahsoka was alone, she would scrutinize her own reflection, desperate to find physical similarities between herself and Anakin—something to link the two of them together.

She didn't look very much like him. Despite the hours she had spent at her mirror, praying that pieces of her brother would suddenly manifest in herself, the only commonality she had managed to scrape together was that they shared the same eyes. Not the shape, even, but the colour: blue. Yet that similarity was also limited. Whereas Ahsoka's irises gleamed aquamarine, Anakin's were a strikingly deep blue, like the depths of an ocean.

Once in awhile, though, when her brother became particularly displeased with her, his eyes would flash a golden yellow. Ahsoka knew this had been happening more and more often lately, and she knew it wasn't good, but she tried to ignore it. The tutors Anakin had hired for her were constantly reminding her of her brother's great deeds. _Only in his early twenties, and already expected to become emperor of an entire galaxy!_

Her lavender skirts swished against her ankles as she crossed to her vanity, sinking despondently into the velvet seat. She gazed into her own eyes, looking for Anakin as usual—to no avail. _Anakin._ He was going to arrange a marriage for her.

 _A marriage._

Ahsoka bit her lip and stared at the glass. Her reflection was trembling slightly. This morning, when Anakin had declared his plan, she had only felt startled. Startled, but also indifferent. As though his announcement had been inevitable, somehow.

But now, whenever she pondered the idea of marriage, her hands shook and she had to choke down vomit. She didn't have names for these emotions…Shame? Terror? Why should she be ashamed at getting married? She couldn't remember why…

She couldn't remember _anything_.

Well, nothing except for the fact that Anakin had saved her. He was the sole reason she was still alive, or at least safe at the palace; she remembered him telling her so. Therefore, she did what he needed her to do. She tried not to be too much trouble.

She figured it was the least she could do to pay him back.

* * *

Ahsoka's first memory was of her waking. She had opened her eyes into a cold, hostile room filled to the brim with panicked doctors and nurses. Her breathing was rough, laboured, and she was already trembling beneath the thin sheets of her hospital bed. She feared that if she spoke, or screamed, the noise would be sucked into some kind of void, and it wouldn't even matter.

But oh, Force, how she wanted— _needed_ —to scream. She was grasping for memory of her name, or age, or where she was, or _anything_. Her montrals and lekku throbbed, though she couldn't remember why— _she couldn't remember_ —and the doctors' and nurses' conversations had already thinned into a shrill, monotonous buzz. To make matters worse, it seemed nobody had even noticed she was there. Sheer loneliness sent her scrambling into a hysterical frenzy.

At last, she screamed. Well, more of a shriek, really: a pathetic, tiny, strangled sound. But everyone turned to look at her, and the room fell at once into silence.

"Let me through!" a deep voice demanded, rather suddenly. "I need to see my sister." She watched the doctors and nurses fall to their knees as a young, dark-haired man loomed into focus in the threshold. Despite his tall stature and handsome features, his eyes were the first thing she noticed about him. They crackled with golden-yellow, even then.

He began to advance toward her. She didn't know why, but she couldn't shake the instinctive terror, and so she pressed herself against the head of the bed, trying to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. But in the end, her efforts proved futile, since the man—her brother, apparently?—sat on the edge of her bed and slipped his arms around her waist, easing her against him like he feared she might shatter.

"Are you okay?" he murmured.

At the time, she had no idea how to respond. All she could do was open and close her mouth, as if the words might miraculously come that way. But she failed to produce them, and under the pressure of all of those eyes— _his_ eyes, especially—she broke down into violent sobs.

A nagging sense told her that crying was shameful, so she tried desperately to stop. But her brother drew gentle circles along her back, whispering things like, "It's all right, Ahsoka, I've got you. I saved you, little one. They can't hurt you anymore."

 _Ahsoka._ Was that her name? She still couldn't recall who "they" were supposed to be. But her brother continued to talk, and so she had to insist, " _Stop._ I don't remember!"

He froze, his arms still clamped tightly around her. Later, she would remember feeling vaguely claustrophobic in that moment. "Don't remember? Don't remember what?"

 _"_ _Anything."_ It emerged from her mouth as more of a sob than a word. "I don't remember _anything_. I don't know who I am, or who you are, or where we are, or…"

Her brother cut her off with a stream of curses, and she flinched. "Why didn't you tell me this?" he bellowed at the doctors, but they all claimed they had had no idea.

What happened next was still a sort of blur to Ahsoka, even as she relived the memory weeks later. She remembered wheezing and choking and kicking, doctors and nurses suspended simultaneously above the ground. She remembered the blazing of her brother's eyes as he warned the doctors not to disappoint him again. She remembered the _thud_ as the men and women fell to the ground, gasping for air, some of them on the brink of tears.

It was only then that the strange man told her the truth. "I am your brother, now to be known as Emperor Vader throughout the galaxy. You will call me Anakin. Our parents, as of two hours ago, are dead, and you would have suffered a worse fate had I not killed the invaders who assassinated them. After their preliminary victory, they thought they could also get away with kidnapping my sister, Princess Ahsoka of the Galactic Empire." At that moment, Anakin cupped her cheek in his palm, studying her eyes. The colour of his had relaxed into a soft shade of blue. "They were wrong. I brought them to justice and I rescued you, Ahsoka. You're safe now. As the new emperor, I will never let anything like that happen ever again."

* * *

Later in the day, Ahsoka headed to the nursery, hoping a visit with her niece and nephew would calm her. Ever since Anakin's announcement that morning, a pit had settled in her stomach, as though some terrible yet eventual fate were hovering on the horizon.

She kept thinking of that first memory, of Anakin telling her that she had almost been kidnapped and their parents had been murderered. They had security holos of all of it, apparently. Empress Padmé had convinced Anakin to grant her permission to watch them, but she had declined after her brother had given her a stern look and the following exclamation: "Force, Ahsoka, why would you try to remember that night if you don't have to?"

Sometimes forgetting was a blessing, apparently.

Ahsoka swung open the door of the nursery, careful to be quiet in case the babies were asleep. Streaks of sunlight danced across the floor merrily, pouring into the palace through the ceiling-high windows. One of the rays of light fell upon the crib of the crown prince, Luke. His eyes were squeezed shut, his little mouth hanging partway open. Cautiously, Ahsoka scooped him out of his crib and sat down in a nearby chair, holding him against her chest.

"He's rather cute while he's asleep, isn't he?"

Her head snapped up, but her heart rate refused to slow until she had confirmed that the source of the voice was only Empress Padmé. Ahsoka blinked a few times, checking her peripheral vision to make sure there was nobody else in the room. The empress had never directly addressed her. At least…Ahsoka didn't think she had.

"He _is_ cute," the princess agreed, a bit belatedly. If she was bothered that Empress Padmé had gone out of her way to compliment her own child, she didn't say anything. Instead, she looked back down at Luke and started to rock him. "Did…did the invaders come for the babies?"

She heard the swish of the empress's skirts as she took a step towards her. "…Pardon?"

"The invaders. Who…who came for me. Who killed my parents. Did…did they ever target the babies? Or you?"

Empress Padmé looked at her curiously for a moment, her brow creased and her lips parted. "No," she said at last. "I don't believe they did. Maybe they would have if Anakin hadn't…hadn't stopped them in time."

It was clear from the empress's tone that she didn't want to talk about this. But Ahsoka couldn't help but add, "What do you think would have happened? If…if he hadn't—"

The empress's eyes didn't flash yellow, but they did flare and snap fervently, so Ahsoka was sure this was her equivalent of anger. "There's no use in wondering about that. It _didn't_ happen."

"Oh," Ahsoka said, looking back down at Luke. Then, in recognition of the pressing need to change the topic, she added, "Anakin said I'll have children of my own someday."

"Maybe."

"Someday soon."

Empress Padmé seemed to hesitate. "Hopefully not too soon," she said.

Ahsoka realized too late that the empress didn't like this topic, either. Nothing she ever said around Empress Padmé was quite right, apparently. "Well, I…I like spending time with your son," she tried. "At least for now, I mean…" Pathetic, she was _pathetic!_

But the empress simply stepped closer, peering at Ahsoka as though she had just noticed Luke in her arms. "Yes," she said finally, in a tone that carried a hint of…longing? But then she shook her head matter-of-factly, and any trace of emotion disappeared. _"Yes._ I do, too."

* * *

 **So, thanks to winter break, here's a faster update. ;) I have no idea when I'll have the next chapter up, but hopefully soon...**

 **If Anakin and Ahsoka seem a little OOC to you at this point, that is fully intentional. In fact, this story actually isn't as AU as it seems at first...but you'll have to keep reading to figure out what I mean by that.**

 **In the meantime, please favourite/follow/review!**

 **-Isabelle**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, everyone! Thank you so much to anyone who has already favourited, followed, or reviewed this story. I would like to give shout-outs to Austin Morgan, Gonk droid main, and LunaCrawley, who have all favourited** ** _Beyond the Glass, Through the Rain_** **. Thank you so much, it means the world to me! ;)**

 **Also, thanks to ej for being my first reviewer. I'm glad you are intrigued. There is more to come, I promise!**

 **If you feel obliged to leave a review, please do so. It would really help me to know what you like and/or what you would like me to improve, so that I can write chapters you all enjoy. I am also totally open to suggestions, if any of you have an idea I might be able to incorporate into the story. No guarantees I will be able to use it, but I will definitely do my best! ;)**

 **-Isabelle**

* * *

Most of the time, he lived in darkness. He had been shrouded by it for so long, it was a wonder he hadn't gone blind already. Or maybe he had, though there was no way of knowing, for he hadn't had a chance to use his vision since light, so long ago, had been provided for him.

He had never suffered from claustrophobia before, but now it constantly felt as if that suffocating sense of panic were attacking him, eating away at his dignity and hope. He just wanted _out_. He yearned to run, to cry, to laugh, to love. He yearned to feel human again.

Sometimes, when this torturous sensation would mount in intensity, he'd start shaking and gasping for breath, and then he'd scream. He needed another human being to listen to him, to find him. And since they wouldn't, he would make them listen to him. He would _make_ them!

But nobody ever heard. Once his vocal cords betrayed him, and his howls warbled out of existence, he was always left alone again. His screams could keep him company for as long as they hovered in the air, but then they too would fade away, leaving him behind.

* * *

A day after Anakin told his sister and wife of Ahsoka's impending betrothal, Emperor Vader spread the news throughout the galaxy. Kings, princes, dukes, and their entourages—all from a wide variety of planets—were invited to the palace for a single evening, over the course of which Anakin would choose Ahsoka's future husband.

When Padmé heard that this, of all ways, was how Anakin was planning on marrying off Ahsoka, she was livid. Not only had he stolen her right to choose her own spouse—or not choose one at all—he had also decided to casually select a boy after only having met him briefly. He might as well have just thrown names into a hat and picked one at random.

Then again, it wasn't as though it came as much of a surprise. Anakin hardly respected his own marriage anymore. _Their_ marriage. He hadn't even courted Padmé properly.

And there had been all of these red flags. How had she not noticed the red flags?

Maybe she had been too young, too trusting. Or maybe she just hadn't _wanted_ to notice them. It had been easier to turn a blind eye…until, of course, it was far too late.

On the evening of the ball, Padmé slipped out of her chambers, scarlet skirts in hand, as soon as Rabé finished with her hair. She was vaguely surprised as her feet carried her past Ahsoka's bedroom, but nonetheless, she mustered the courage to slip open the doors, peering through the crack that separated them. The princess's suite, opulently adorned with crystal chandeliers and hand-carved furniture, yawned with cavernous luxury so vast that neither Ahsoka nor her handmaidens noticed Padmé. One of the girls carried a gown draped across her arms, an extravagant ripple of rosy silk. As she shifted her stance, the diamond-adorned skirts caught the light at a thousand brilliant angles. Next to her, Ahsoka gripped a bedpost like she would a lifeline, nearly screaming as a different handmaiden tightened her corset to a ridiculous degree. Padmé's stomach performed an impressive series of flips, and she lost her grip on the doors. They clattered together before her eyes, blocking Ahsoka from her view.

There was a time when Padmé would have challenged anything that sickened her like that. And one day, she told herself, she would again. But part of this life was knowing _when,_ not just how, to act, and she knew that day was not—could not be—today. So instead, she took a step backward and, with one last glance over her shoulder, made briskly for the ballroom.

* * *

By the time Ahsoka appeared at her own party, everyone else had already arrived. The ball had started, and acquaintances—soured, admittedly, by cut-throat competitiveness—had begun to be made. As the doors swung open, however, and the princess emerged, Empress Padmé on one side of her and Anakin on the other, the festivity and vigour drained from the room. Instantly, all of its occupants sank to their knees—more for Anakin than for her, Ahsoka knew.

Anyone who laid eyes on Anakin _that_ night was especially keen on sinking to their knees, as if this might satisfy the looming, unspoken threat that was his very presence. If this threat were not heeded, after all, Vader would be more than happy to inflict dire punishments upon the wrongdoers. He wore a full-body suit fashioned entirely of black fabric, boots that lent him a much more intimidating stature than his already considerable height, and a cape that snapped viciously behind him as he moved. He also had a mask, Ahsoka knew, that he wore into battle, or whenever he made a public address—a mask that, gratefully, he was not wearing tonight. Though she would never admit it aloud, that mask terrified her. When Anakin spoke while wearing it, he sounded more like a machine than her brother. Worse yet was the modulated echo of his breath, which chilled the air even when he _wasn't_ talking.

The emperor and empress swept toward the thrones at the back of the room, stepping onto the dais upon which they were mounted. Ahsoka followed, flanked by two of her handmaidens. She nearly tripped on her hem as she made her way up the stairs, but one of the handmaidens caught her by the arm and guided her toward the throne on Anakin's left.

She sat, clasping her hands in her lap. She couldn't quite comprehend why her heart was pounding so hard, lightheadedness overwhelmed her consciousness.

The guests rose to their feet as a festive song began to ring through the air. "Go dance, Ahsoka," she heard her brother say. "All of those boys want to dance with you."

She stared at him blankly. She wasn't sure she was a particularly skilled dancer. "Anakin," Empress Padmé cut in, "if _she_ doesn't want to—"

But Anakin remained insistent, so Ahsoka finally agreed, grasping the hand of one of her handmaidens and allowing her to guide her down the steps. From there, she was flung into the arms of one of her suitors, who would whisper things to her that she didn't care to listen to or remember. "Yeah," she would murmur, from time to time. "Yeah, right." And then the music would change, and with a loud swish of ballgowns and the click of dress shoes, her partner would toss her towards another stranger, and the entire pattern would repeat itself again.

One of the boys told her that her hands felt clammy. "Are you nervous, Princess?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. "Wouldn't you be?"

She thought she saw him open his mouth, but then the music changed again, and she was whisked towards another boy who caught her around the waist. She expected him to smoothly continue dancing, as her other partners had done, and maybe whisper flirtatious comments to her now and then. Instead, he froze. _"Ahsoka?"_

The princess felt her jaw drop. "What—what did you just call me?"

"Oh." The boy resumed his dance steps, taking Ahsoka along with him, and then he winked at her. "Right. It's 'Your Highness' now, isn't it?"

 _"_ _Your Highness" now? It had always been "Your Highness"._ "Do…do I know you?"

The boy's mirth evaporated when she said that. A sort of urgency surfaced in his steps. "You're teasing me, aren't you?" he said.

"No," she replied uncertainly. "No, I'm not."

He glanced at something to the side, then lowered his voice and leaned closer towards her. "We don't have to talk about this here, if you don't want to. I understand."

Talk about… _what?_ "I…I don't. I don't understand."

"Ahsoka—" Then he stopped himself. "I mean, _Your Highness_ …oh, come on, are you really going to make me call you that? I always called you Ahsoka before."

She cocked her head. "Then…we did know each other?"

Ahsoka felt the strange boy staring at her in bewilderment. The music ended, but instead of relinquishing her to a new partner, he tugged her off the dance floor, leading her to a separate corner of the ballroom. "Of course we did," he insisted, staring her in the eyes with desperate intensity. It vaguely registered in her mind that he was handsome. He was a young human male with slightly messy, brown hair and murky, grey eyes. "You can drop the act. I know you. I know you have a plan. Why else would you willingly let the emperor objectify you?"

She stared at him. "What?"

"Ahsoka, please," he said, leaning closer to her. "Listen. I know you have a plan, and I'm not going to turn you in. I want to help. Trust me. You know you can trust me."

"A—a plan?" she repeated. "I don't know what you're talking about. A plan for what?"

Now it was his turn to gape at her. "For Force's sake, Ahsoka, what's wrong with you? You're not acting like yourself—"

"Well, I'm _trying_ to!" she cried. "I've been trying _so_ hard to be the person I was before, but how can I be her when I don't remember? I've—"

"You don't remember?" There was something dark about the boy's tone, something almost chilling, and Ahsoka tapered off. "What do you mean, you don't remember?"

She bit her lip. "The attack, on the palace? The invaders almost kidnapped me…and I don't know exactly what happened, but I ended up losing my memory…and they were going to take me, but Anakin saved me…" Ahsoka started to fiddle with her fingers when the boy glared at her, as though he hated her for having been attacked or something. "I…I don't remember that part, of course. But that's what Anakin told me—"

"And you believe it?" the boy whispered.

"I—why wouldn't I? Anakin told me so, and we have security holos…and everything…" She trailed off pathetically as she realized that she had never even seen said security holos. But she could if she wanted to, which was what mattered. Maybe she _would_ ask Anakin about it later.

The boy's eyelids lowered until it looked as though he were squinting. "So you don't remember Raxus? Or Carlac? Or Onderon?"

Ahsoka stared at him. Then she shook her head. She didn't even know what those _were_.

"Oh, Force," the boy muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, Force!"

Tentatively, the princess reached out and set a hand on his shoulder. "Are—are you all—"

 _"_ _Bonteri!"_ The boom of Anakin's voice silenced Ahsoka—as well as the rest of the ballroom. Even the lilt of the music halted. Everyone turned to watch the emperor stalk towards the princess and the boy next to her. At once, Ahsoka tore away from him, suddenly ashamed at having been caught associating with someone of whom her brother obviously did not approve. But it was too late. Anakin had already seen everything.

"I thought that might have been you," the emperor ground out through gritted teeth. His hands were clenched into fists, his eyes blazing like wild, golden flames. "Get away from my sister!"

The boy glanced over his shoulder at Ahsoka. She immediately averted her gaze. "She's n—"

But then his voice was cut off abruptly, and pained choking noises filled the air in its place. When Ahsoka looked back at him, he was hovering above the ground, clutching at his neck desperately. She bit the inside of her cheek, remembering that day in the hospital when Anakin had done the same to the doctors. "Care to finish that sentence?" he was yelling.

Ahsoka pictured herself screaming at her brother to stop, to let him go. But what if he thought she really did care about the boy? What if he hurt her, too?

Finally, her brother's victim was dropped to the floor on his hands and knees. His hair had gone from attractively messy to outright dishevelled. A long strand had fallen over his eyes. And yet he dared to look up at Anakin, still gasping for breath.

"Come along, Ahsoka," the emperor ordered. She clasped her hands and followed him, but not before glancing in the direction of the poor boy, who was still sprawled across the marble floor.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, before disappearing from his view entirely.


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is dedicated to ej and Meep. Thank you** ** _so much_** **for your lovely reviews. When I read them, I literally started laughing with happiness. So thank you very, very much! ;) I hope you enjoy this next chapter; it is an important one!**

 **Just to let you all know, there is some violence towards the end of this chapter. I'm very sorry if this bothers anyone. It is probably pretty mild when compared to other stories you may have read.**

 **Also, if you are liking this story, please remember to favourite/follow/review.**

 **Love, Isabelle :)**

* * *

There was a boy talking to Empress Padmé when Anakin and Ahsoka returned to their thrones. His eyes and hair were wild and dark, and he was accompanied by an entourage of about five people. He was clearly older than Ahsoka, possibly by quite a few years. His hands moved in short, sharp motions while he spoke, as if he were trying to dice something with a knife.

Empress Padmé did not look amused, even when the boy laughed at one of his own comments. Her lips formed a straight line, her brown eyes impassive. Her hand was clenched around the armrest of her throne so tightly that her knuckles had become white.

Anakin set his hands on Ahsoka's shoulders and steered her in the boy's direction. She could feel everyone in the ballroom watching her; even the music had not yet started up again. All of the guests were trying to figure out what Bonteri had done to her to deserve punishment. Ahsoka herself was still trying to figure that out.

The boy noticed Ahsoka as she and Anakin came closer, and a slow smile curved his lips. "Prince Erosik," said the emperor, "this is my sister, Princess Ahsoka."

The prince extended a pale hand, and Ahsoka offered him hers. He kissed it, then said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."

The princess closed her eyes, opening them again after a moment. The air was saturated with tension. She swallowed. Her throat was dry. "The pleasure is all mine."

For some reason, Ahsoka looked to Empress Padmé, and their gazes locked. The empress's eyes were flickering, like they had in the nursery when Ahsoka had brought up the attack on the palace. "Princess?" she heard Prince Erosik whisper. He set his hand on her lower back and tugged her a little ways away from the empress. "How about a dance?"

She reached up to take his shoulders, felt the whole room heave a sigh of relief. But something about this boy made her feel awkward, small, ashamed. She hadn't felt like that with the other boy—Bonteri, Anakin had called him. She had had the sense that she could trust him…and yet her brother didn't. That must have been a false sense of security on her part.

Her brother _did_ approve of this boy, though. That meant that he _could_ be trusted.

"Okay," she whispered, as the music started up again. "Okay."

* * *

Two days later, Ahsoka sat before one of her tutors, the projection of an algebra holobook hovering above her desk. He had delved into a lecture involving inequalities and absolute value equations and _absolute value inequalities_ , but Ahsoka was already tuning him out. A pit had settled in her stomach. She played with her fingers beneath the surface of her desk.

Suddenly, Mr. Kadal fell silent. It took Ahsoka a moment to notice that the monotonous hum of his voice had disappeared. When she did, her head snapped up. "Your Highness," he said, stating her title as though it were an insult, "you're not very focused today, are you?"

She swallowed hard and looked down at her lap. "I'm just nervous."

"The emperor will make the correct decision for you." He was referring to the announcement of her fiancé, which Anakin would make this evening. The princess had been fazed ever since the ball, which she knew he found ridiculous. He had told her many times that she was offending her brother by acting so anxious. After all, didn't she trust him to make good decisions for her?

Ahsoka supposed she did. And yet, for whatever inexplicable reason, her stomach had still been tightening itself into knots for the past thirty-six hours.

Mr. Kadal launched back into his lecture, and Ahsoka propped her elbow on the desk, leaning her forehead against her palm. Her tutor immediately whipped around, and Ahsoka caught herself wondering if perhaps he had eyes in the back of his head. _"Posture,_ Your Highness."

Ahsoka lowered her head but lifted her eyes to glare at him. She was usually a good pupil, when she wasn't under such tremendous stress; she could tell that Mr. Kadal expected her to come around. He waited until she had straightened her posture, wiped the scowl from her face, and removed her elbow from the desk's surface. "Very good," he said at last. He tapped his chalk against the board, where a legion of inequalities still awaited her. "Now, Princess—"

The doors swung open with a soft whine, and Ahsoka bolted around, grateful for the distraction. Standing in the threshold was Empress Padmé. The skirts of her violet gown ballooned around her, filling most of the doorway. "Hello, Mr. Kadal," she said flatly.

"Your Imperial Majesty," he replied, sweeping into a bow. It was almost comical, Ahsoka thought, how quickly he could change from the intimidating to the intimidated.

"If you would kindly oblige, I'll be taking the princess out of your hands." Empress Padmé glided into the room, her skirts _swish-swish-swish-_ ing as she walked. "She and I have some preparations to make before tonight, as I'm sure you understand."

"Of course," Mr. Kadal agreed. Empress Padmé nodded tersely at Ahsoka, who rose from her chair and followed her sister-in-law out of the room.

Silence descended upon them like a cloud. As they wove through hallways and suffered a particularly long turbolift ride, Ahsoka kept her eyes fixed firmly to the floor. It wasn't until they turned a corner that the empress, rather abruptly, said, "How are you feeling?"

Ahsoka hesitated. How was _she_ feeling? No one had really asked her that before, much less the detached Empress Padmé. "I know Anakin will make the right decision," she said.

The empress stopped in her tracks. Then she took Ahsoka by the shoulders and physically turned her towards her. "No. How are _you_ feeling?"

"How am I…," Ahsoka stammered. Empress Padmé had never touched her before. And she had never tried to carry out anything even _remotely_ like a heart-to-heart conversation. "I…I'm okay." She looked to the ground. "Nervous, though. I'm nervous."

"I know," the empress said softly. "That's to be expected."

"I'm not supposed to be," Ahsoka said miserably. "It means I don't trust Anakin, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't mean that," Empress Padmé responded. Silence pierced the air for a moment, before she added, "Ahsoka, what do you think of Prince Erosik?"

The princess tensed. "Is he…is he going to be my husband?"

"I don't know. But I couldn't help but notice that Anakin took an interest in him."

"Oh…" Ahsoka bit her lip. "Well, he's…nice enough, I suppose."

"Your body language says otherwise."

The princess tried to relax her posture. "How…how did you and Anakin meet?"

Ahsoka glanced in Empress Padmé's direction and noticed that she was staring at her with narrowed eyes. So she _had_ noticed her conspicuous attempt to change the topic. Regardless, she played along. "When I was young, I was the Queen of Naboo."

So the empress _had_ been royalty before she had gotten married to Anakin. Ahsoka supposed it made sense; Anakin had insisted that her fiancé be a king or a prince. "Were you called to court?" she asked. "Or to a ball, or something of the kind?"

"No." The empress shook her head. Chestnut brown ringlets brushed against the back of her neck. "We met under…unusual circumstances. I was fourteen. It was not an arranged marriage. In fact, we didn't become a couple until much, much later…when I was twenty-four."

 _Twenty-four!_ Ahsoka knew that Anakin and Empress Padmé had decided upon their marriage together, without any outside influence; the empress had said so herself, after Anakin had announced Ahsoka's betrothal in the dining room. But for some reason, whenever she had envisioned Empress Padmé as a bride, she had always been in her late teens…like Ahsoka herself. "So how come my marriage is arranged?" she asked finally.

"I don't know," Empress Padmé said. Then, as though having read the princess's mind, she added, "You're too young. I've told Anakin you're too young, but he won't listen to me." She hesitated. "You do know that Prince Erosik is much older than you, Ahsoka."

"I…I know."

"He's twenty-three." Another pause. "The same age as Anakin."

Ahsoka swallowed hard, cringing at the fluttering of her stomach. "I won't have to get married until I'm eighteen," she said quietly, more to herself than to Empress Padmé.

Her sister-in-law pursed her lips together. Then she nodded. "Yes. That's true."

The two women came across a set of towering oak doors, carved to look as though wooden vines were crawling to the ceiling. "This is the treasury," Ahsoka said.

"Yes."

"Anakin said I'm never supposed to come here."

"Well, you're with me." The empress winked at her. "I thought we would find something for you to wear tonight. A piece of jewellery, maybe. A tiara. Something special."

Empress Padmé reached into her handbag and produced a long-handled key, slipping it into the lock. The doors groaned open deafeningly, and Ahsoka was led inside by her sister-in-law. "There are some beautiful tiaras down there," the empress said, pointing to the left. "Check some of the drawers, too. Anakin hides the nicest pieces in there. I'll try to find you a necklace."

Ahsoka nodded, watching as Empress Padmé disappeared from sight. Then she took her own skirts in her hands and jogged down the opposite hallway.

As promised, she quickly found the correct wing and sucked in an awed breath. The tiaras left only slivers of empty space on the shelves, catching the chandeliers' light to grant the entire chamber the brilliance of one magnificent gemstone. Ahsoka lifted a tiara from its velvet cushion, tried it on. It fit nicely around her montrals, so perhaps it would be worth considering. But Empress Padmé had told her that the nicest pieces were in the drawers.

She bent down to open the nearest one, startling as she found that it was empty. Frowning, she moved onto the next drawer, followed by the next. All of them were vacant. Perhaps Anakin or one of his servants had rearranged the jewellery since the empress had last come here.

Nonetheless, Ahsoka reached for one of the final drawers and slid it open. "Oh," she murmured. This one was _not_ empty. Inside was a bag that could have contained a tiara, or another piece of jewellery, maybe. She lifted it out and set it in her lap, then tugged at the drawstring.

As she reached inside, however, she did not feel the shape of a tiara, or a bracelet, or any piece of jewellery she recognized. Instead, her hand tightened around something _cylindrical_.

For a moment, she panicked. What if this was something she wasn't supposed to see? What if Anakin really _did_ have his reasons for not wanting her to come here? But…no. Empress Padmé was with her. She had told her that she had permission to look at the jewellery.

So Ahsoka pulled out the mysterious item.

And her jaw dropped.

It was a cylindrical object. _The_ cylindrical object, similar to the one that Anakin wore on his belt all of the time. Except that this one was different. Smaller. Ahsoka ran her thumb along the cool metal, breathing slowly in fascinated wonder, and a shiver chilled her spine. If she looked closely enough, she could see her distorted reflection staring back at her. "Hi," she murmured, waving at herself rather foolishlessly. But it felt natural. It felt _right_.

She peered into the bag once again. Another cylindrical object rested at the bottom, though this one was a bit longer. Ahsoka felt the corners of her lips curve into a smile, and before she even knew what she was doing, she was _laughing_. She didn't know why, but she liked holding them. They made her feel…reassured, somehow. Empowered.

And so she reached into the bag to take hold of the other one, and then—

 _She was watching the panorama of space stretch before her, peppered with stars and explosions and beauty and destruction…outrunning blue plumes of something deadly that were practically licking at her ankles…mourning the loss of somebody close to her…_

 _She was on her knees, her wrists bound together in her lap, pondering the thought of death…sprinting across a barren planet, clutching something behind her, dodging—was that blaster fire? But then she was shaking, freezing, immersed in such exhaustion that she could hardly lift her eyelids…her heart pounding as she discovered someone—something—she had never known, never felt before…and now she was surrounded by floating islands, on a planet that died and was reborn every morning…and she was running, running, running, foliage bursting around her, her heart racing, broken, another person lost…_

 _She was still running, but now her surroundings had changed. Everything had gone dark, and terror engulfed her. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She wanted so badly to collapse, for everything to go back to how it had been before. "I would never let anyone hurt you, Ahsoka," he promised. She didn't—couldn't—believe him. He couldn't protect her forever. She had already been hurt, again and again and again, and there wasn't anything he could do about it._

 _But he kept saying it anyway. "I would never let anyone hurt you, Ahsoka. I would never let anyone hurt you, Ahsoka. I would never let anyone hurt you—"_

"Ahsoka!"

She dropped the cylindrical object, jumping away from it as though it carried a contagious disease. Anakin was standing in the doorway, repeatedly clenching and unclenching his jaw. Once in awhile, he would squeeze his hands into fists, relax them, and then make fists again. His eyes were such a golden yellow that they practically glowed. And then, unexpectedly, he marched towards Ahsoka and grabbed her by the collar. She shrieked as he yanked her to her feet, bringing his face close to hers. "What. Are. You. DOING IN HERE?"

"I'm sorry," she kept whispering. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

Anakin tightened his grip on her bodice. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME IN HERE!"

"I know," she whimpered. Tears pricked her eyes, but she swallowed hard, trying to keep from crying. "But Empress Padmé brought me, she said it was okay—"

Anakin let go of her. He took a few steps backwards, breathing so hard that his broad shoulders rose and fell. "Empress Padmé said it was okay," he repeated.

"Yes," Ahsoka said.

Anakin seemed to consider this. He clenched his jaw again. He took a step towards her.

And then he struck her.

Ahsoka screamed as she toppled to the ground, reaching up to clutch her cheek. When she looked up at Anakin, his right hand was still extended, his yellow eyes flashing. "Are you _arguing_ with me, Ahsoka?" he yelled, advancing towards her as if to hit her again.

"No!" A sob escaped her throat as she flinched away from him. "No, I wasn't trying to, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

He bent down and grabbed her by her back lek. "I'll _bet_ you're sorry," he spit at her. "Now that I've caught you. You _know_ I don't care what Padmé says. _I_ told you not to come in here. And you shamelessly disobeyed me, you little brat!"

Ahsoka couldn't even speak anymore. All she could do was stare at the man she considered her brother, her protector—the man who had just _hit_ her, so hard that she had toppled to the ground. "Are you so ungrateful that you can't even bother to listen to me when I give you simple instructions? You think our parents' death wasn't hard on me? You think your _memory loss_ wasn't hard on me? I had to become the emperor of an _entire galaxy!_ But I didn't throw you out. I saved you, I took care of you—I even went to the trouble of arranging your marriage—and you repay me by doing the _one thing_ I told you not to do?"

Finally, Ahsoka broke down. Loud sobs tore from her throat. She felt so foolish now, so foolish for having been so happy after finding those objects. She should never have even touched them. Obviously, they were dangerous, or something like that. But she hadn't realized they were dangerous!

"You're trying to make me pity you, aren't you?" Anakin growled. "You're trying to make me pity you when this is all your own fault!"

"No, no, no, no, no…," Ahsoka pleaded. "No, I'm not, I'm not…don't, don't, _please!"_

Anakin had lifted his right hand, as if to strike her again. But something stopped him. His eyes, though still a dull yellow, widened, and he turned to look over his shoulder.

Empress Padmé was standing in the doorway, her lips parted in something resembling either horror or shock. She met Anakin's gaze, and her eyes flickered tempestuously.

 _"_ _You,"_ said her husband. He tightened his grip on Ahsoka's back lek, and she flinched. "You were the one who let her in here—"

"Let her go, Anakin," said the empress. "Let her go."

The emperor looked back at his sister. Then, finally, he released her, watching disdainfully as she crumpled to her knees, her skirts now a rumpled mess of cream silk. "Come on, then," he barked. "You've got to get cleaned up before you meet your fiancé tonight. Unless you intend to introduce yourself with mascara running down your cheeks."

Shakily, Ahsoka climbed to her feet, following Anakin out the door. "Ahsoka," Empress Padmé whispered, setting a hand on her shoulder as she passed by.

But the princess pulled away, almost violently. "Don't _touch_ me!" she cried, her voice trembling. More sobs rose in the back of her throat, until she started gasping uncontrollably. "You said it was all right. And it wasn't, it wasn't all right—"

"Ahsoka—"

But she was gone, already darting down the hallway after Anakin. She didn't want to stay behind to hear what the empress had to say. Anakin had _hit_ her. Anakin had hit her because Empress Padmé had talked her into doing something that Ahsoka had known was wrong.

And she wasn't going to let that happen again. She _wasn't_.

* * *

 **Anakin has now shown his dark side...**

 **It won't be much longer until Padmé and Ahsoka finally rise up against him...**


	5. Chapter 5

**I finished this late last night and wanted to post it this morning. I hope you all enjoy! The story's about to pick up speed.**

 **Guest: Thank you so much for the kind review. It means the world to me! :)**

 **-Isabelle**

* * *

"You let her in there on purpose."

Padmé ignored her husband. She leaned forward to examine her reflection in the glass, gliding the blush brush against her right cheek with a delicate hand. Anakin marched toward her and seized a fistful of her ringlets. "You let her in there on purpose!"

"Unhand me, Anakin," she said calmly, still fixated on her own reflection.

After a moment, he seemed to remember what he was doing and let her go. "I'm sorry," he murmured, so quietly that she hardly even heard him.

"You should tell that to Ahsoka," Padmé said.

Anakin's expression contorted into something resembling disgust. "She got what she had coming to her. She _knowingly_ disobeyed me!"

Padmé tried not to flinch as her husband banged his fist on the vanity. "I told her that it was okay," she said. "We wanted to find something nice for her to wear tonight—"

 _"_ _Liar,"_ Anakin growled. "You're lying to me, Padmé, and you know it! Why else would I have _conveniently_ found Ahsoka in the room where I keep her lightsabers?"

"I told her to find herself a tiara. I thought she should be the one to do it, since she needed to make sure it would fit around her montrals—"

"Such a _smooth_ lie," Anakin said. "You had this all planned out, didn't you?"

" _What_ planned out?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Padmé. You know I hate it when you do that."

"No, you don't. You love it. If I act intelligent, then I'm a threat."

She was toying with his temper. And it was rising rapidly. "That is _not_ true!"

"It _is_ true." Padmé finally turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "And know this, Anakin Skywalker. Someday, Ahsoka will figure out the truth, as well."

Anakin froze. His jaw clenched, unclenched, with almost mechanical rigidity. "You're _not_ going to tell her." It wasn't just a statement. It was a threat.

"No, I'm not," Padmé said. "She's a smart girl, Anakin. You're trying to withhold information from her, but she'll find out eventually. It's only a matter of time."

"I'm not 'withholding information'," her husband growled, jerking around and pacing furiously across their bedroom. "I'm doing this to protect her."

"Who is Ahsoka's fiancé, Anakin?"

He stopped in his tracks and threw a glance over his shoulder. His bionic hand was already clenched into a fist, straining at the seams of its leather glove. _"What?"_

"Who have you chosen to be her husband?"

Slowly, Anakin relaxed his posture. "Prince Erosik."

"Who's twenty-three years old."

Her husband's hands started trembling. She could tell he was desperate to resort to violence, as he had done so often lately. "She won't have to marry him until she's eighteen."

"Maybe. She'll still be almost six years younger than him."

"It doesn't matter. I thought they made a good match."

Padmé turned back towards her reflection and raised her eyebrows. "Maybe from Erosik's point of view. But I noticed Ahsoka's discomfort around him, didn't you?"

Anakin strode all the way towards her in a mere two steps. " _What's_ your point, Padmé?"

"This is another attempt to control her," she said. "You think that Prince Erosik can control her now, too. I suppose you're starting to get desperate, Anakin. I mean, _everyone_ saw the way you reacted when you noticed her talking to Lux Bonteri—"

Anakin grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her towards him. "I do not. Like. That. _Man!"_

"Why?" Padmé challenged him, barking a derisive laugh. "Because he's a remnant of her past? And you were afraid he was going to tell her—"

Anakin shoved her a few paces backwards, and Padmé caught herself against the side of the vanity, gritting her teeth to suppress a thrash of anger. "If _you_ tell her _anything_ , you _know_ what happens!" he bellowed. She opened her mouth to respond, but he turned on his heel and stormed past the doors, his cape whipping through the air behind him.

* * *

A few hours after her encounter with Anakin, Ahsoka stood next to him in the ballroom, gazing listlessly down at her hand as Prince Erosik slipped an engagement ring onto her finger. She thought of how she had felt when she had held that cylindrical item… _no_. _She shouldn't think about that._ And yet…there had been a brief moment when she had had her wrists bound. She had thought she might die, and there wouldn't be anything she could do to stop it.

That was sort of how she felt now. Trapped. Helpless. And yet a part of her still wondered if she would look back upon this moment one day, wishing she had done something differently…

Applause roared throughout the room as the prince turned back towards his audience, flashing a winning smile at the holocameras. Ahsoka tried to smile, too. Her cheek still stung. She was wearing makeup that covered the otherwise conspicuous bruise.

Prince Erosik took her in his arms and tugged her closer, caressing her right cheek with a fascinated spark in his eyes. Ahsoka stared back at him, trying to get herself to feel _something,_ but there was no fluttering, no lightness, only a twisting sensation deep in her gut. He lifted her chin and leaned down to kiss her, but Empress Padmé grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back. "She's still underage," she reminded him sternly.

Ahsoka looked away. She was almost grateful for Empress Padmé, even though she knew she shouldn't be. It was the empress who had gotten her into trouble, after all.

"Empress Amidala!" Everyone in the ballroom turned to see a brunette handmaiden tearing through the crowds. She bore a striking resemblance to the Empress Padmé, except that she looked to be a few years younger. Finally, out of breath, she skidded to a stop at the bottom of the podium. "Empress, there's something you must know."

The empress glanced back at her husband, who rolled his eyes and jerked his head to the right, indicating that she should follow the handmaiden. Empress Padmé bit her lip, and her eyes flicked briefly to Ahsoka. But then, with an almost nervous sigh, she took folds of royal blue satin in her hands, leaving the princess alone with Anakin and Erosik.

Her new fiancé suggested that they dance, and Ahsoka obliged. She supposed there was really nothing more to do, except maybe talk or drink. But Ahsoka was still too young for alcohol, and the last thing she wanted to do was spend time conversing with Anakin. So she set her hands on Erosik's shoulders and let him toss her around the dance floor.

After the fifth or sixth song, Ahsoka noticed Anakin marching towards the couple. In a near panic, she tried to pull Erosik away, but he laughed and tugged her back towards him. "No, no, no. _I'm_ supposed to lead, remember?" Then he lifted her chin as the next song started up. "You haven't talked to me at all, Princess. Do you not like me?"

"No," she said tersely. "That's not it."

She was lying. That was _exactly_ it.

He brushed his thumb against the bruise on her left cheek. "What's this?"

Ahsoka reached up and snatched his wrist with surprisingly quick instincts. Erosik's eyes widened. She was sure hers did, too. "Um…nothing you have to worry about," she stammered, releasing him gently and putting her hand back on his shoulder.

Then her heart rate jolted as somebody touched _her_ shoulder, and she whipped around. Unsurprisingly, Anakin towered behind her imposingly. "Excuse us, Prince Erosik," he said, pulling Ahsoka out of his arms. "I must borrow the princess for a moment."

"Of course, Your Majesty," the prince agreed, and then Ahsoka was guided out of the ballroom by her brother, who still had his hands firmly clenched around her shoulders.

"Why are you trembling?" he demanded. "Are you afraid of me?"

Ahsoka looked down at the floor. Then, hesitantly, she nodded.

"There's no need for you to be afraid of me if you do what you're told," Anakin said.

Ahsoka bit her lip. "I know," she said finally.

Anakin huffed. "Have you done anything bad since I found you in the treasury this morning?"

The princess considered this. Then she shook her head no.

"There you go," said the emperor. "You should be—"

He was cut off by a high-pitched keening that at once pierced the silence of the halls. Anakin let go of Ahsoka's shoulders and squinted at the corridor in front of him. Then he broke into a jog, dissolving into the shadows as he chased after the source of the wailing. Ahsoka did her best to keep up, but it was difficult in her stilettos and corset and layers upon layers of skirts.

When she finally caught up to Anakin, she found him looming before the Empress Padmé. She was seated on a bench covered with velvet upholstery, a handkerchief clutched over her mouth and nose. The handmaiden on her left dabbed away globs of makeup as they oozed down her cheeks, and the one to her right—the brunette from the ballroom—stroked her hair. "You monster," the empress choked out, glowering up at Anakin. "You _monster!"_

"I had nothing to do with it," he said flatly. "You were the one who made the decision."

Ahsoka gasped as Empress Padmé _lunged_ at him, but she was restrained immediately by her handmaidens, each of whom grabbed one of her arms. "You know that's not true, _Vader!"_ she spat, battling undeterred against her handmaidens' grasps. "You know that isn't—"

Ahsoka stepped into the light. The empress noticed her and settled down, and her brother turned blistering, yellow eyes in her direction. The princess's stomach dropped and she tried to back away, but Anakin caught her roughly around the wrist. "Come on, then," he said, hauling her away from the Empress Padmé as though his wife weren't even there at all.

Ahsoka kept her head down and followed him. Apparently, his temper was explosive today, and she didn't want to set it off once again. Ten minutes of awkward tension thrummed between them, and she nearly let loose a sigh of relief as they arrived at the emperor's private chambers. Anakin guided her into his bedroom, produced the infamous needle from the top drawer of his vanity, and sat his younger sister down in a chair. "Hold still," he grunted, slapping some rubbing alcohol onto her upper arm before injecting the medication.

She would have to wait a full thirty seconds until Anakin ejected the needle, and so she braced herself by balling fistfuls of silk in her fists. They underwent this routine every twelve hours, which of course meant that each day, she would spend an entire minute of her life sitting obediently, and Anakin would stab her with a needle that was apparently necessary for her survival. Shortly after her awakening, a nurse had bumbled through a vague explanation of her health condition. By some genetic accident, she had been born with it, and she had almost died as a baby but the royal doctors had managed to save her. Now, as long as she wanted that next breath, she would have to take a high dosage of her medication twice a day, exactly every twelve hours. Otherwise, of course, she could just go and die, and then she'd be undermining all her brother had sacrificed in order to rescue her from the invaders.

She had asked for more details. Anakin had said tersely that he didn't want to scare her, and so the decision was finalized. That was all she would be allowed to know.

"Fifteen more seconds," her brother muttered, pulling her from her reverie. Ahsoka bit her lip and dug her nails into her palm. _Fourteen…thirteen…twelve…_

And then, finally, it was over. Ahsoka sucked in a quick breath as Anakin yanked the needle from her arm. "Good girl," he praised, but his voice was gruff. He clicked the needle back into its case. "Come on, then. Your fiancé wants to spend time with you, I'm sure."

She bobbed her head into a nod and followed him, back into the shimmery ballroom and the arms of a faceless boy her brother had chosen for her.

* * *

That evening, after the ball had finished and she had wished Prince Erosik goodbye—which had taken ten times longer than it should have, since he had seemed rather reluctant to let her go—Ahsoka was back in the quiet of her bedroom. One of her handmaidens—a young Togrutan girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to the princess—was helping her to remove her gown, petticoats, and corset so that she could change into her nightgown.

Partway through the process, one of Empress Padmé's handmaidens appeared in Ahsoka's doorway. It took her a moment to realize that it was the brunette girl who had interrupted the ball. "Lahnya," she said to the girl attending to Ahsoka, "I'll take it from here."

The Togrutan handmaiden—Lahnya—nodded and headed for the doorway. Ahsoka was mildly confused—why was one of the empress's handmaidens substituting for her own, after all?—but she kept her mouth shut. The princess never talked to the handmaidens, and they never talked to her. The unspoken contract between them stated, first and foremost, that they should never associate with each other, not unless they really had to.

Finally, after thirty more awkward minutes, the human handmaiden had helped Ahsoka into an embroidered nightgown, removed all of her jewellery, and dabbed away her makeup. The princess scrambled onto the top of her bed, which was much too high off the ground for that to be comfortable. Ahsoka was short and petite for her age, which was curious, because Anakin was tall and had a sturdy build. He had assured her that she would grow, though.

The chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling flickered out, and Ahsoka closed her eyes and pulled the covers up to her chin. She tried to sleep, but instead, she kept thinking of Erosik and her engagement, and whenever she did that, panic stirred to life inside of her. She felt for her engagement ring, which was the only piece of jewellery the handmaiden hadn't removed. The diamonds were surprisingly sharp. When she felt the ring, they bit into her skin, and she winced.

 _"_ _That ring is worth five hundred thousand credits,"_ Prince Erosik had whispered to her halfway through the evening, caressing her hand as they danced. _"Take care of it."_

She had promised she would. And yet, for whatever reason, she almost felt she wanted to—

A warm hand clamped over Ahsoka's mouth. For a second, she couldn't even breathe, let alone process what was happening. _What—what the—_ someone grabbed her wrists and snapped something cool around them. _Now_ the princess tried to scream, but whoever had their hand on her mouth pressed it down even harder. _Invaders…they were invaders…no, not again, not again!_ Ahsoka struggled, choking on sobs. _Anakin had said she would have suffered a worse fate…what had he meant by that, what had he meant!?_

 _Anakin._ The thought of her brother sparked a new jolt of panic. He couldn't save her this time—he had left Coruscant with Prince Erosik to visit his planet, Crulius—the invaders must have _known_ —Ahsoka was tossed carelessly over someone's shoulder, as though she were a ragdoll. Then something sharp was shoved into her arm, like one of the needles that Anakin gave her. Only a few moments later, her world rocked dizzily on its axis, and she sank languidly into the arms of a stranger as she completely lost consciousness.

* * *

Ahsoka woke up in a heap before being immediately tossed to the right by some sort of turbulence. She tried to steady herself against the right wall, but as her wrists were still bound together, she could only do so much. Biting her lip, she glanced around at her surroundings. She was in the back of a moving speeder. She peered out of a narrow, filthy window that revealed narrow, filthy streets, all a blur as the vehicle plummeted downwards. In the front row sat two figures, but Ahsoka could only see the backs of their heads.

Her muscles started trembling furiously. _No._ How could this possibly be happening? Anakin had saved her, he had prevented her kidnapping…and yet, somehow, she had been kidnapped anyway. What if he never found her? What if these people killed her, or tortured her, or—

A small sob escaped her throat. Could she not be safe anywhere? Did everyone have to be out to hurt her—even her own brother, sometimes? "Calm down, Princess," said a female voice in the front, and Ahsoka jumped. She hadn't realized they had known she was awake. "We aren't going to hurt you. What's more, we'll return you to the Imperial Palace by morning."

So Ahsoka fell silent, even though she remained tense. The speeder parked next to a ramshackle building that the princess feared might collapse if she even set foot inside. The two figures slipped out of the front and retrieved Ahsoka from the back, each gripping one of her arms tightly. "Not quite what you're used to, hmm, Your Highness?"

Ahsoka didn't miss the woman's mocking tone, but she stayed quiet anyway, giving her head a quick shake no. She didn't want to upset her captors, especially since both of them wore masks and she therefore had no means of knowing who they were. Instead, she let them shove her inside of the building, which was even more disgusting than the exterior. There were giant gashes in some of the walls, and Ahsoka noticed a couple of spiders skittering across the floor. She was fairly certain that some of the floorboards were literally rotting.

"We brought the princess, my lady," one of the women said. "As you asked."

Ahsoka's heart leapt in surprise as a vague shadow materialized on the opposite side of the room. It loomed larger and larger until its edges solidified and the figure hung over all three women. And then, finally, it edged delicately into the light.

Ahsoka gasped. Without high heels, this woman's stature was short, and she dressed much more humbly than how the princess was used to seeing her: a simple grey dress in place of diamond tiaras and voluminous skirts of royal blue or purple. Yet her flashing brown eyes and curly, dark hair were…well, that didn't necessarily mean anything, plenty of women had dark hair and dark eyes. But as she took another step forward, the light fell more directly onto her features, and Ahsoka could no longer deny her identity.

"Empress Padmé?" she whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

**First of all, please know that I am so, so grateful for all of the amazing support I received after posting the last chapter. I was ecstatic upon reading your wonderful reviews, so thank you thank you thank you. I was also super excited to see that many people have now followed and/or** **favourited this story! You are all the best! :)**

 **Guest, Sunny, and ej: Thank you so, so much. I'm glad to know that you're enjoying it. ;)**

 **Meep: Thank you so much for your amazing review! I really appreciate knowing what you enjoy and any questions you still have about the story. You asked at the end how Anakin is able to get the rest of the galaxy to fall in line. He does this partially by keeping public information about himself (but especially Ahsoka, Padmé, and his children) as limited as possible. Average civilians may have heard that there is a princess, an empress, etc, but other than that they do not know too much about them. Royalty, nobility, and politicians from other planets (such as Lux) know a little more, as well as anyone working in the palace; however, Anakin usually keeps them quiet through intimidation. Lux, whom Anakin did not threaten until the end of the chapter, probably would have told Ahsoka the truth had the emperor not cut him off. He was aware she was at the ball, since he had had time to decide he wanted in on her "plan"; however, he was surprised to see her because he was able to run into her so easily. I hope this answers your question, please let me know if it doesn't.**

 **Okay. Sorry for the long author's note. I should probably get on with the chapter now. ;) Oh, and since I haven't done this for this story yet, here is my disclaimer: I do not own _Star Wars_.**

* * *

"I apologize for essentially having kidnapped you, Ahsoka, but I'm afraid we had no other choice." The empress took another step forward, sitting down in a chair directly across from Ahsoka. "In the slight chance that we were caught, we wanted to make sure you were regarded as innocent, and I surmised—correctly, I think—that you would not have come with me voluntarily after the incident in the treasury this morning."

Ahsoka considered this for a moment. Then she nodded.

"That's what I thought," said the Empress Padmé. "Please, sit." She nodded towards the chair across from her, and Ahsoka slipped into it uncomfortably, her bound wrists in her lap.

The empress noticed. "Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Sabé, if you would remove the princess's binders, I think she would appreciate that." Then, to Ahsoka: "We didn't want you to fight back and inadvertently injure yourself or one of us. I hope you understand."

Ahsoka nodded that she did as one of the masked girls—Sabé—freed her. The princess felt her bare wrists, grateful to once again be able to do so. "Why—why have you brought me here?"

"Good question." Empress Padmé smiled at her. Even her air seemed gentler when she wasn't clad in an immaculate gown. "Did you notice that Anakin left the ball with your fiancé tonight?"

Again, Ahsoka nodded. "Good," the empress praised her. "As you probably already know, then, he wants to see Prince Erosik's homeworld and meet his family. Of course, by mid-morning tomorrow, he'll already have returned to Coruscant…but at least he will have made an _effort_ —of some sort, anyway—to learn about the boy whom he's decided you're going to marry."

The princess cocked her head to the side. "I—what are you trying to say?"

"Tonight is our best opportunity to meet, Ahsoka. I have information in my possession that I must share with you—information I _should_ have shared with you a long time ago. But I couldn't tell you at the palace. Especially after the…incident this morning." Empress Padmé's face fell, and Ahsoka, almost unconsciously, reached up to brush her left cheek. In the absence of concealer and foundation, the bruise darkened her skin and even her facial markings.

"I still can't believe that Anakin would hit you with his mechanical hand." A current of anger rippled beneath the empress's murmured musings. "Or hit you at all, really. There was a time, Ahsoka, when he never would have even laid a finger on you. But then—" She hesitated before taking a raggedy breath. "Well, we're all different now. That's for sure."

Ahsoka bit her lip. "Empress Padmé?"

"Just Padmé," the empress hastened to correct her. "You don't need to throw 'Empress' in front. Anakin only wanted you to do that to keep us further apart."

"Okay. Um…Em—er— _Padmé,_ I don't understand."

"Well, of course you don't. I haven't explained anything to you yet." Padmé leaned forward in her chair, as if preparing herself to tell Ahsoka a secret. "You remember what Anakin told you about how you lost your memory. About how your parents died."

Ahsoka nodded.

"Would you like to see the security holos we have of that night? Regarding you, at least?"

"Well…I…Anakin said I wouldn't want to relive that night."

"I think you'll be fine," Padmé said pertinaciously. "Sabé, could I—yes, thank you."

She retrieved a holodisk from one of the masked girls, whose tresses of chestnut hair—a shade identical to the empress's, in fact—flowed over her shoulders and down her back. Padmé slid her thumb along the side of the device, and blue figures erupted from the holotransmitter. Ahsoka could make out her own slumbering form, tangled up in the covers of a familiar canopy bed. _Her chambers._ As the roar of blaster fire pierced the sudden calm, however, her holographic counterpart flew into a sitting position with a strangled scream.

"Your Highness!" A handmaiden sprinted suddenly into the frame. "Your Highness, get—"

A blaster bolt pierced her chest before she could finish, and a choked gasp of pain escaped her lips as she hit the ground. A pack of burly men, their faces obscured by cloaks, sauntered into the frame. One of them kicked the dead handmaiden in the stomach and chuckled, the sound low and feral. "Well…let us see, let us see. What do we have here?"

A barrage of blaster fire exploded with a crackle of light, and a chorus of screams poisoned the air. Once all of the handmaidens had been gunned down, the ringleader took a step toward Ahsoka, and a desperate sob shook her form. "Oh…are you _scared,_ Princess?" he taunted, grinning maniacally as his entourage erupted into laughter. Ahsoka pressed herself against her headboard, visibly trembling. "Well, don't be. We're not going to hurt you—not yet."

He lunged at her. She tried to kick him, but he snatched her ankle and dragged her off of the bed. She smacked against the ground with a sound that resembled both a _crack_ and a _thud_ , and in real time, Ahsoka winced. She looked to Padmé, but she was watching the holovid with a perfectly straight face, as though she were reading a weather report.

The invader seized Ahsoka by the collar of her nightgown and threw her up against the wall. "Take a good look at our prize, boys," he chuckled. The words seemed to knock some sense into the princess, for she screamed suddenly for her _parents,_ ragged sobs sending tears gushing down her cheeks. "Shh, Princess, shh," the man whispered, coursing his fingertips down her lekku in near fascination. "Your parents can't help you now. We've already discarded their bloody corpses on the floor of their bedroom."

She froze, her sobs hitching momentarily in her throat, and then a shrill, grief-stricken keening shattered the silence. "Somebody get her to shut up!" came a frenzied yell.

"Quiet, Princess," the man demanded, annoyance now edging into his tone. "Don't force us to kill you." The holographic Ahsoka did not heed his warning. She continued to scream and sob and produce loud, desperate noises the present-day Ahsoka wasn't even sure there were names for. The man holding her froze for a moment. Then he slammed her up against the wall. Another loud _crack_ sound echoed throughout the air. "I said, SHUT UP!"

Silence thickened in the air between them, and the holographic Ahsoka blinked a few times, staring at him with huge eyes. Then, when he didn't take any further action, she parted her lips and continued to choke on unintelligible shrieks. The invader growled and slammed her repeatedly against the wall, and the princess's screams grew shrill and crazed—

—And then, suddenly, she wasn't screaming at all.

Ahsoka's holographic form tumbled into the man's arms, and he hefted her onto his shoulder. "All right," he said. "We've got her. Let's get out of here."

But before they could, a shadowy figure edged into the frame, and a narrow beam of something red—something glowing—snapped to life beside it. The light filtered over the man's features, revealing him to be…Anakin. "You've got something that belongs to me," he snarled.

Laughter richocheted throughout the room, and one of the men stepped forward, his mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. "We had a princess, and now we've got a prince, too."

Anakin tightened his free hand into a fist. "I'm the emperor now. You've made sure of that."

He lunged toward the man taunting him and, in one grandiose gesture, slashed through him with the glowing…thing. The invaders' faces blanched, and they began to back away. "Now," Anakin said, brandishing the—the blade, Ahsoka supposed. "Who's next?"

The invaders tried to fire at him, but their blaster bolts literally _bounced off_ of his blade and spiralled toward them instead. Anakin scoffed as a particularly tall man grunted and collapsed to his knees, the amber glow of a bullet hole bright against his dark tunic. "You would think that the villains who killed the emperor and empress would be better at preserving their own lives."

The ringleader—the only invader still standing—swung Ahsoka onto the ground, seized her by her back lek, and held her against his shoulder. "One more move, _Your Imperial Highness,_ and she joins your parents," he taunted, pressing his blaster to her head.

"Really," Anakin said. He lifted his left hand, and the man lost his grip on Ahsoka, instead reaching up to claw at his own throat. With a sickening _crack_ , his head twisted abruptly to the side, and his body collapsed to the floor with a loud _thud_.

Anakin's red blade sank back into the hilt, to Ahsoka's present-day amazement. He threw it carelessly onto his belt and rushed toward holographic Ahsoka's limp form, tugging her into his lap and repeating her name through broken gasps. "Horrible, isn't it," Padmé said apathetically, as the hologram flickered out. "Good thing it didn't actually happen."

Ahsoka's heart lurched. Slowly, numbly, she looked up at Padmé. "Wh—what did you just say?"

"It never actually happened," the empress repeated, smiling wryly. "The entire thing was made up as an explanation for how you lost your memory. Here, look."

The hologram once again appeared above the disk, and she rewound it so that the holographic Ahsoka was still pinned to the wall. "Don't force us to kill you," the man was saying.

Padmé paused it and pointed to the captive Ahsoka. "Do you notice that flickering?" she asked.

Ahsoka leaned forward and squinted to make it out, then nodded tentatively. It was very subtle, but it was there. The face of her hologram would sometimes, if just a millisecond, disappear entirely. "That's not you," Padmé said. "Anakin hired experts in the holo field, and they edited the recording to make her identical to you. But the technology isn't perfect yet. The brilliant actress is actually in this room. Lahnya, Sabé, you can unmask yourselves now, if you'd like."

Ahsoka raised her eyebrows at the sound of her handmaiden's name. The Togrutan girl revealed herself, as well as Sabé—the same young woman who had interrupted the ball and come to replace Lahnya. So her _handmaidens_ had been the ones who had kidnapped her? They were working with Padmé on whatever—whatever this was?

"But…I still don't understand," Ahsoka said finally. "If there really were no invaders, then who killed my parents? And…why would Anakin lie to me about it?"

"Oh." Padmé's face fell, and she inhaled deeply. "Ahsoka…this is going to be a tough pill to swallow, but…you need to hear it. Anakin…Anakin isn't really your brother."

Ahsoka felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. _Anakin…Anakin wasn't really…no, that couldn't be._ And yet, she remembered all of those times she had tried to find similarities between the two of them, in terms of their appearances, and had found none. But if he wasn't her brother, then did that mean…"The people in the oil painting. They aren't my parents."

Padmé shook her head. "No, Ahsoka. They aren't. The woman—Shmi—was Anakin's mother. She passed away a few years ago. But the man never even existed. The Empire isn't that old, contrary to what Anakin's led you to believe. He took the throne by force and made you a princess by announcing to the galaxy that you're his sister."

"But…" It was too much, too fast. All Ahsoka had ever believed about herself was crumbling to dust at her feet. "But _why?"_ she managed. "And why would he lie to me about it?"

"That part," Padmé said, "is more complicated. Would you like to see what really happened? I believe that may answer some of your questions."

Ahsoka hesitated. Then she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would."

Padmé cast a potent glance at Sabé, and she nodded and produced yet another holodisk from a crate at her feet. From this one sprang the image of a battleworn planet scattered with barren remains, shot from a building—or a ship, perhaps. A broad-shouldered man appeared in the frame, his back to the camera. _Anakin._ Next to him, two other men, dressed entirely in white armour, stood rigidly at attention. "Sir, should we send a search party to track her down?"

Anakin flicked his hand dismissively. "No. I sense her. She's afraid. She'll come running when she realizes I'm here. But you've got to get back in the ship. She won't trust clones anymore, and she'll lose her trust in me if she sees you in my company."

"Yes, sir," the armoured men chorused, turning precisely at 180 degree angles and marching back onto the ship. Anakin crossed his arms over his chest as he waited. Sure enough, a small, female figure soon materialized in the distance. In real time, Ahsoka watched, wide-eyed, as her holographic counterpart barrelled into Anakin's arms and threw her own around his waist. This Ahsoka wasn't in a gown or even a nightgown like in the last hologram; instead, she wore a greyish-burgundy tunic and leggings, with two of those cylindrical objects hanging from her hips—the same ones, in fact, that Ahsoka had found in the treasury this morning.

"You're okay!" She choked on a suppressed sob, clutching onto Anakin desperately. "Thank the Force you're okay! I thought—I couldn't sense you—I thought you were—"

"I'm not, Ahsoka." Anakin ran his fingertips stiffly over her back lek. "I'm alive. I'm—"

With an audible gasp, she yanked herself suddenly from his grip, and her hands flew to her hips as if to feel for the cylindrical objects. Anakin's body language morphed instantly into something more aggressive, and he made a fist at his side as he sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Ahsoka," he said, his voice startlingly devoid of any kindness, "I know what you sense, but—"

 _"No,"_ holographic Ahsoka whispered, shaking her head repeatedly. "No, no. No, you can't—"

"Ahsoka—"

"Stay _away_ from me!" She drew backwards a few more paces, removing the smaller of the cylindrical objects from her belt. A yellowish-green beam of light appeared with a _snap-hiss,_ and she held it out in front of her. "If you come near me, then I'll—I'll—"

"You'll do what?" Anakin challenged her. "You're a smart girl, Ahsoka. You know you're no match for me. You're the Padawan and I— _I_ am your master."

Ahsoka ground her teeth together. "I _was_ your Padawan. Why is that so hard for you to accept?"

In present-day, Ahsoka glanced up at Padmé. What in the worlds was a Padawan? What did Anakin mean, he was her _master?_ But the empress held a finger to her lips, indicating that Ahsoka should wait to ask her questions until after the holo had finished.

"Because you _are_ mine!" Anakin shouted. His blade appeared now, too, only this one was blue. "I killed the Sith Lord we were looking for, Ahsoka. And now…I need an apprentice."

Understanding dawned in Ahsoka's eyes. She continued to back away as if from a spooked animal, drawing the second cylindrical object with a quivering hand. A bright green blade emerged from the hilt. _"No,"_ she said. "No, I won't join you. I won't follow you down this path."

"You will," Anakin insisted. "Whether you like it or not, you _will_. I'll make you, if I have to."

"Master, _please,"_ Ahsoka begged. "Don't do this. The Jedi need you—those who are left, that is. Padmé needs you, Obi-Wan needs you… _I_ need you!"

"Padmé—"

"I know you love her," Ahsoka whispered. "I've known for awhile. She wouldn't want this."

"She would if she knew why. She would if she knew it was the only way to save her!"

For just a moment, Ahsoka let down her guard. "'Save her'?" she repeated.

"Ahsoka, I don't want to fight you," Anakin said. "I just want you to extinguish your lightsabers and come with me." He motioned for her to do so but kept his own ignited. "Go on."

Her lip curled. "Never," she said. "I will not succumb to the Dark Side. Anakin Skywalker taught me better than that. And if _he_ were here, he would be proud of me for it!"

"So be it," Anakin spat at her. "If I have to do this by force, then I will."

Ahsoka charged at him, and he parried her blow. In response, however, she simply shoved her blade down upon his, used the momentum to force herself off of the ground, and threw her body into a graceful somersault, soaring over his head before landing on her feet behind him.

In real time, Ahsoka's breathing stuttered, and a gasp escaped her lips. It was almost like bearing witness to a deadly sort of ballet. And she— _she_ had done that? She _could_ do that?

She stared in fascination as her holographic counterpart attacked and parried, executed perfect flips and cartwheels and somersaults, fought back. _Why hadn't Anakin told her she could do this?_ She thought back to the treasury, when he had completely lost his temper and physically lashed out at her. If only she had known what she was capable of at the time….

But of course he hadn't told her. He hadn't told her, Ahsoka realized, because he wanted her to be dependent on him. He didn't _want_ her to be able to fight back.

In the hologram, the armoured men sprinted from the ship and began to fire at Ahsoka. She groaned, in annoyance rather than in genuine panic, and used the smaller blade to deflect their shots while battling back Anakin with the other. But she was spread too thin, and her older opponent managed to disarm her so that she was forced to duel him with only her little blade. Anakin drove her back towards the shuttle and Ahsoka parried desperately—until a stun bolt hit her with a violent eruption of blue sparks, and she crumpled to the ground.

Her little blade rolled out of her hand, still ignited. Anakin bent down to scoop it up and extinguish it, and then he extended his free hand. The larger hilt came literally _flying_ through mid-air, and he grimaced as it settled against his palm. "All right, boys," he sighed, attaching the cylindrical objects to his belt and picking up the fallen Ahsoka. Her head lolled against his shoulder as he adjusted his weight. "Let's get back to Coruscant."

The hologram faded out. "I don't—" Ahsoka said immediately, but Padmé shook her head to silence her and accepted another holodisk from Sabé.

"I was there when he brought you back to the Imperial Palace on Coruscant," she whispered. "I had just arrived there myself…and you had just come back to your senses…and two of the clone troopers were dragging you inside. You were struggling and screaming, and then…then, by chance, you noticed me." Padmé's cheeks flushed red, and she dropped her gaze to her lap. "We met eyes for a second. I'll never forget it. So haunted…so angry. As if you were trying to say to me, 'How could you let this happen, Padmé?'" Her voice cracked on the last syllable, and she added, brokenly, "I'm sorry that I still don't have an answer for you, Ahsoka."

Ahsoka took a shaky breath. She didn't know how to respond.

"Anyway," Padmé added, giving her head a quick shake, "the soldiers dragged you into this tiny room, and then…then Anakin told them to leave so that he could be left alone with you." She fiddled with the holodisk, and another image burst into a shimmering existence. This time, it depicted Ahsoka chained to a chair by her wrists and ankles, Anakin circling around her.

"I'm going to give you one more chance, Ahsoka."

"You can give me as many 'one more chances' as you'd like. I'm _not_ going to join you."

Anakin stopped in front of her. "You always were stubborn."

"You're using the Jedi Temple as your _palace!"_ she cried. "That's sick."

"It's resourceful."

"Do you even _hear_ yourself?" she demanded. It came out as a sort of half-sob.

"I do," Anakin said, folding his arms and continuing to pace around her. "The galaxy has no further need for Jedi. And if Ahsoka Tano won't join me, she too will be…eliminated."

Holographic Ahsoka laughed derisively. "You're going to kill me," she said.

"No." Anakin took her chin and forced her to look at him. "I will eliminate you as a _threat_." He could clearly sense Ahsoka's confusion, since a wild grin broke out across his face. "You've been uncooperative so far, so maybe I'll give you a taste. That might…persuade you."

He patted her cheek demeaningly and took a few steps backward, outstretching a claw-like hand in her direction. Padmé winced in anticipation, and so Ahsoka knew that whatever was about to happen would not be pleasant. Sure enough, her holographic form began to writhe in agony, and shrill, desperate shrieks tore from her throat. "He tortured me," the princess whispered to Padmé, watching the hologram with wide eyes.

But Padmé shook her head. "No," she said miserably. "Worse."

"And now you're slamming up your mental shields," holographic Anakin said, as if commentating on a halliket game. "You can feel me probing your mind, can't you, _Snips?"_ Another grin broke out across his face as the volume of Ahsoka's screams shot up considerably. "Unfortunately, as you can probably tell by now, those shields aren't going to do you much good."

Finally, he released her, and her head slumped forward. She was gasping for air like one might after a marathon. "Luckily for you," Anakin said, "there _is_ a way to avoid that pain."

Holographic Ahsoka's head snapped up. "You can torture me as much as you want. I would rather die than fall to the Dark Side along with you."

Anakin clasped his hands behind his back and once again circled around her chair. "Pathetic. Ahsoka Tano throws away her life and potential for the second time in the past year." He turned on his heel to look at her. "What were you doing with your life before Mandalore? Running around the Coruscant underworld, dating smugglers?"

Ahsoka's hologram tried to lunge at him, but the chains around her wrists and ankles kept her from doing so. "That's what I thought," Anakin said. "And now she would rather _die_ than use her talent for something beneficial. As if that makes her a martyr or a hero."

"'Beneficial'?" holographic Ahsoka repeated indignantly. "Look at what the Sith have done. Democracy is gone. The Jedi are gone. The galaxy's protectors are _gone_ —"

"As if the Jedi were such heroes," Anakin scoffed. "They wrongfully expelled you, Ahsoka. And I know, deep down, that it still kills you. Doesn't it?" When she didn't respond, he took another broad step towards her. "You still harbour a considerable amount of loyalty to an order that cast you aside at first opportunity, my young apprentice."

"My loyalty is not necessarily to the Jedi, but to the Light Side of the Force," she ground out. "My loyalty is to what's _right_. And what you are doing is not right. You are hurting people—even the people you love. I cannot—will not—follow that path. I will not follow _you_. That's not what Anakin Skywalker—the Anakin _I_ knew—would have wanted for me."

Anakin stared at Ahsoka for a long moment. Then, finally, he said, "So be it."

Only a second later, chills raced up Ahsoka's arms as a bloodcurdling scream sliced into the silence. Her holographic counterpart was arching her back dramatically, as if this would somehow relieve the pain, but she was still held down by the chains binding her to the chair. "Stop it! Stop! Stop, please!" Her words, barely intelligible, initially sounded more like shrieks. "Stop it, Master! Ma—Anakin! Anakin, _stop_ it! _Please!_ I thought—"

She abruptly lost the strength to talk and her words drained into a dialogue of mere screams and wails. In present day, Ahsoka buried her face in her hands and whimpered. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to get her own screams out of her head.

"Do I need to skip ahead?" she heard Padmé whisper.

Originally, Ahsoka refused, but after four more minutes of nothing but her own screams, she all but begged Padmé to turn it off. The empress bit her lip and skipped to the end of the holo. Ahsoka was now slumped in the chair, her features slackened by unconsciousness. "How long did it last?" the princess whispered, covering her mouth with her hands.

Padmé stared straight ahead, trembling with almost alarming intensity. "Thirty-four minutes," she stammered at last. "Thirty-four minutes _straight."_

Ahsoka almost gagged on the vomit that rose in her throat. _Anakin had…how could he have…how could_ anyone _do that?_ And yet…it was right there. In the holovid. "How did I survive?"

"He pulled back immediately before he would have killed you," Padmé confessed. "But you're right. There was a risk of death. You were in a coma for _six months_." Ahsoka's jaw dropped, and the empress continued. "At that point, he had already broken into your mind and erased all of the memories he wanted gone—which was everything, even your own name. He only left you with necessary skills, like how to speak Basic, for example."

In the holovid, Anakin had fixed Ahsoka with a look of pure disdain, as if _she_ had been the one to torture _him_. The doors opened, and two brunettes materialized in the threshold. "Ellé and Moteé, my handmaidens," the empress supplied under her breath, and Ahsoka nodded.

As the women sank to their knees, Anakin looked down his nose at them. "You called, my lord?" one of the girls said. She must have heard Ahsoka's screams, for she was shaking.

"Yeah," Anakin said. "Get the princess to the hospital wing and tell the doctors to start working on her. I want her conscious as soon as possible. Nobody talks to her until I get to." There was a moment of hesitation. " _What_ are you waiting for?" Anakin demanded.

"The…the princess, sir?" the other woman said.

"Yes. Princess Ahsoka. _My sister."_ Anakin's glare intensified as Moteé and Ellé dared to look up at him in shock. "Spread the word," he said, "and if anyone challenges what I say—"

"Yes, sir," they agreed in unison, exchanging glances with each other for an infinitesimal moment. As they stood to retrieve Ahsoka, however, Anakin seized their shoulders to stop them.

"That's 'Your Majesty' to you," he growled. "I am the emperor now. You will address me as such."

Padmé paused the holovid as Ellé and Moteé lifted Ahsoka into their arms, carrying her out of the room. "I think that's enough of that, don't you?"

"But…" Ahsoka fiddled with her fingers. "I don't understand. They…I… _we_ mentioned Jedi, and Sith, and lightsabers, and Padawans…and I don't know what those are…and I was expelled from something…and the Coruscant underworld? And…and how was Anakin torturing me? You said he 'broke into my mind'? How…how could that…is that like when he lifts his hand and people choke? He can do that with minds, too?"

"He took advantage of your bond," Padmé explained gently. "Your Force bond." When Ahsoka gave her a blank look, she sighed. "I'm no Jedi. I'm not as familiar with the Force as some others…used to be. But before the time of the Empire, you and Anakin were part of a prestigious religious organization called the Jedi Order."

The empress went on to explain that Ahsoka had been Anakin's Padawan—or apprentice—during a galactic conflict known as the Clone Wars. Padmé had been a senator at the time. She and Anakin had secretly fallen in love with each other and were married behind the backs of the Jedi, who prohibited their members from engaging in romantic relationships. But her feelings about Anakin had since changed; during the Great Jedi Purge, he had transformed into Darth Vader while Ahsoka was on Mandalore, the barren planet from the holovid.

"He wasn't always like this," Padmé sighed. "He used to really care about you…about _us_. Now he's just possessive and controlling." She ran both hands through her hair. "That's why he wants you to marry a boy who's so much older than you, Ahsoka. That's why he lost it when you found your lightsabers in the treasury. It's all part of a plot to keep you"—she cringed—"submissive."

"But…how did he intend to keep _you_ from telling me all of this?" Ahsoka said. " _You_ remember."

At once, Padmé's face fell, and something vague flickered into the princess's memory. _"You monster! You monster!"_ But Anakin had told her that _she_ had made the decision….

"You purposefully led me into the treasury," Ahsoka said. Padmé nodded. "You wanted me to find my—my lightsabers. And Anakin…I told Anakin it was you…and he…"

"I was threatened," the empress whispered. "I have other family outside of this _prison,_ after all. A sister, and my nieces…no, niece…my niece…" A sob caught in Padmé's throat as she brought the heel of her hand up to her forehead. "He suspected…that I purposefully let you find your lightsabers…and he sent an assassin after my youngest niece. Pooja."

She looked up at Ahsoka, her cheeks gleaming with fresh tears. "I guess he suspected it would be safe for him to go away tonight. He didn't think I would try to tell you anything right after Pooja's death." Padmé laughed derisively, and then, unexpectedly, she threw back her head and screamed. The echo warbled excruciatingly in the silence. "He was _wrong!"_

 _He was wrong…he was wrong…he was wrong…he was…_ "I'm sorry," Ahsoka whispered, reaching out her hand for Padmé to take. "I'm so sorry, Padmé."

After a long moment, Padmé accepted her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "There's nothing we can do about it now," she said in a whisper. "There's nothing we can do except show him that he doesn't have as much power over us as he's convinced he does."

Ahsoka nodded and gently disentangled her fingers from Padmé's, blinking down at her hands in fascination. She had seen herself do amazing things with them in the duel she had just witnessed. Ahsoka _Tano,_ as Anakin had called her—not "Princess Ahsoka of the Galactic Empire"—had been free. She had been able to move things without touching them, to fight back when Anakin tried to force her to submit to his will, to soar through the air in unimaginable, impossible, beautiful ways. She was everything Ahsoka would have wanted to be had she known she could, everything she had assumed she would never be capable of.

 _Because Anakin had saved her. Anakin had saved her. She had to be good for Anakin. Pay him back for rescuing her from those kidnappers. No, stay quiet, stay quiet, be a good girl, Ahsoka, do what you're told, do what you're told, do what you're told—_

And yet here she was, learning for the first time that she shouldn't have done what she was told at all. Anakin hadn't saved her. He had tortured her. He had stolen her identity.

And that… _that_ made her blood boil with enmity she had never even imagined.

"The Force," she said. "You've mentioned that I…I 'have the Force'. How do I use it?"

Padmé closed her eyes, breathed in, breathed out. Then she opened them again. "That shot you take every twelve hours? The one Anakin gives you? It temporarily removes your Force sensitivity by putting to sleep the midi-chlorians inside of you. Those are the living organisms that allow you to use the Force—they live inside of you, like in a symbiotic relationship. If you want to reestablish your Force connection, the first step is manipulating your way out of taking that shot." She leaned a bit closer to Ahsoka. "After you've done that, I can't help you. I don't have enough midi-chlorians in my bloodstream to be able to use the Force. But, there's one person who _can_ help you. One Jedi who's still alive. Someone we both used to know."

"Who?" Ahsoka demanded.

Padmé hesitated for a moment. Then she moved her chair closer to Ahsoka's and whispered:

"Obi-Wan Kenobi."

* * *

 **So, yes, Obi-Wan _is_ going to play a role in this story! You didn't think I forgot about him, did you?**

 **And, unsurprisingly, literally everything Anakin has said so far is a lie. Go figure.**

 **The next chapter will feature Ahsoka meeting Obi-Wan for the first time and learning some more about her past.**

 **If you would like, please leave a review and let me know what you think. I'd really appreciate it! (Follows and favourites are awesome, as well.)**

 **Love, Isabelle**


	7. Chapter 7

Ahsoka tiptoed down a filthy hallway, trying to breathe through her mouth so that she didn't have to inhale the rotten scent. She was dressed in Lahnya's uniform—a simple, brown dress that fluttered around her knees and a handmaiden's cowl. In her hands was a tray, which provided a meagre bit of food. Ahsoka could have sworn that some of it was mouldy.

She and Lahnya had switched places upon her return to the palace. Currently, the handmaiden was shutting down all holocameras in this vicinity and inserting prior footage into the security records. As it turned out, she was rather good at manipulating holos—and, by extent, concealing events from the emperor's watchful eyes. This was why Sabé had come to replace her before Ahsoka's so-called kidnapping, and how Padmé had been able to get access to all of those security holos. At the dawn of the Empire, before Anakin had gotten the chance to erase proof of Ahsoka's torture, Lahnya had pulled all of that incriminating data onto separate disks.

Ahsoka made sure to lower her head further when she came across the guards, their hulking frames huge as mountains next to the tiny cell door. Severe fluorescent light struck their sharp features, making them appear even more beefy and intimidating. "I'm Lahnya Adira," she said, keeping her voice small. They would have too much pride to suspect an ostensibly harmless little girl of any wrongdoing. "I've come to deliver food to the…prisoner."

The guards both chuckled, exchanging a few words in a harsh-sounding language that Ahsoka couldn't understand. They looked at her, at each other, at her again. Ahsoka bit her lip. At last, the one on the left barked, in Basic, "You new here, servant girl?"

Ahsoka hesitated, her stomach swooping into a freefall of panic. Was she _supposed_ to be new? Now that she thought about it, she had no idea whether this was one of Lahnya's regular duties. "I…I normally work on the upper levels, attending to the princess," she replied evasively.

"The princess, eh? Lucky you." She couldn't tell whether or not he was being sarcastic. "Heard she's getting married now—that prince from Crulius, is it? Guess the emperor finally decided to put her to good use. About time, after all the trouble she caused him with her memory loss."

 _Put her to good use. All the trouble_ she _caused_ him _._ Ahsoka's stomach gave another violent twist, and for just a second, she thought she might actually vomit. Instead, she swallowed and nodded, the tray rattling slightly as her hands trembled. It was decidedly a liability at this point, though she wasn't sure if she was more likely to drop it or to beat it over the guards' heads. Instead, she clenched her teeth and demanded, "Are you going to let me in or not?"

The guards exchanged another glance, flickers of mischief playing across their eyes. "Yeah," said the one on her right, deliberately enough to make her heart stop. When he turned to look at her, his lips pulled back to reveal a toothy grin. "Go ahead, little lady."

Ahsoka took a wary step forwards. When she was at the threshold, one of the guards seized her upper arm and flung her roughly inside. She stumbled down the stairs leading into the cell and turned around to glare once she caught herself. But the durasteel door had already slammed shut, caging her within its jaws, and the guards' riotous laughter had begun to fade away.

A mustier, nastier odour reached her nose, accompanied by the ominous percussion of dripping water. Ahsoka shuddered as waves of goosebumps swept along her arms, a sensation that only worsened as she caught sight of the silhouette at the back of the cell. She took a few steps closer, bent to the floor, and, with a gentle clatter, placed the tray before him—cautiously, as if to make a peace offering. Padmé had promised that Master Kenobi would recognize her. But what if he didn't? Even worse, what if he expected _her_ to recognize _him?_

"Thank you," said a wearied Coruscanti accent. Ahsoka looked up at the man before her. His eyes were bright blue and bloodshot, and a dishevelled auburn beard luxuriated from his chin and upper lip. Fear roused inside of her, and she almost backed away, but then something changed in Kenobi's eyes, and he reached out to take off her cowl. "Ah—Ahsoka?"

So he _did_ recognize her. She nodded hesitantly. His eyes flicked from the handmaiden's uniform to her face. It took Ahsoka a second to realize that he was really looking at the bruise on her left cheek. "Oh, Ahsoka," he murmured. "What has he done to you?"

Ahsoka wasn't fully caught up on what she had been like before, so she didn't feel that she was the most qualified person to answer that question. "Master Kenobi," she said, which was what Padmé had told her to call him, "you must know something. I—I don't actually remember you—"

"What?"

"Padmé told me about you. She said I had to come find you so that I could learn how to…how to 'use the Force'. But Anakin gives me this shot every twelve hours, so I can't feel it now…"

"Ahsoka." Master Kenobi had taken her shoulders. She squirmed a little bit, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. She didn't like strangers touching her. "Ahsoka, please. Listen to me. I'm not going to hurt you, little one. Calm down. What do you mean, you don't remember me?"

So Ahsoka explained to him everything Padmé had told her, about how Anakin had captured her on Mandalore and stolen her memories and made her a princess upon his rise to the throne. "A princess?" Master Kenobi repeated, his eyes wide. "Well…I suppose that's somewhat of a relief. I thought…" He looked at Ahsoka's dress, then back up at her cheek. "I thought you might be Anakin's serving girl. Only his mechanical hand could leave a bruise that prominent."

Ahsoka's stomach churned at the thought. "Anakin…Anakin was the one who gave me that bruise," she admitted. "I found my lightsabers, and he…freaked out. But if I were his servant, do you think he would willingly send me down here to _your_ cell?"

"Point taken." Master Kenobi reached up to stroke his beard, and the clank of chains filled the room. Again, Ahsoka felt sick, but Kenobi didn't seem to even care at this point. "I am glad to see you, my dear," he said. "Not under the best of circumstances, I know, but then again…they never were." He fell silent for a moment. She did, too, remembering what Padmé had told her about the Clone Wars. "I _will_ help you to remaster the Force, Ahsoka," he said at last. "But it will be difficult. I also receive the shot you've described, so in order for us to have any hope of succeeding, you will have to find a way to avoid taking yours, at least a few times."

Ahsoka nodded. "I can do that, Master Kenobi."

He smiled. "There."

"What?"

"There. I just saw it. There's still some of Ahsoka Tano left in you, Princess." He winked at her, but his expression quickly fell back into solemnity. "If Anakin is the one to administer your shot every twelve hours, I can't imagine it will be easy to manipulate him. Promise me you will be careful, Ahsoka. He'll take whatever means are necessary to keep you cut off from the Force."

Ahsoka realized that Kenobi's eyes had again fallen upon her bruise. "I will," she said.

"You should go." Kenobi reached to set her cowl back in place. "We wouldn't want the guards to become suspicious, after all. You've been in here for too long already."

Ahsoka nodded and stood, sending one last glance over her shoulder before she left.

* * *

Upon Ahsoka's return to her chambers, she found Sabé in the threshold, tapping one foot in anticipation. Instantly, the handmaiden flung a silk nightgown into Ahsoka's hands and yanked her into the room. "What—" Ahsoka started, but Sabé silenced her.

"Lahnya commed me," she said briskly, helping Ahsoka to yank off the handmaiden's dress and throw on the nightgown. "Emperor Vader and Prince Erosik arrived back home early, and—"

She was cut off by the thrum of heavy footsteps, growing exponentially in volume as they thudded down the hall. The two women looked at each other, frozen for a moment in shock, before Ahsoka dove for her bed and Sabé tossed Lahnya's uniform into the closet. Ahsoka had just turned her back to the doors and yanked the silk coverlets up to her chin when she heard a _creeeeak,_ accompanied soon after by a spattering of footsteps against hardwood.

She lay still for a moment, slowing her breathing so as to give the impression that she was still asleep. The mattress sank beneath someone else's weight as they sat down next to her. _Probably Anakin,_ she thought, _come to give me my so-called 'medication'._

She waited maybe a minute or so before pretending to stir, tossing and turning as she rolled onto her opposite side and groggily blinked open her eyes.

Then she saw him and her heart plummeted. Anakin was not the person seated beside her.

It was _Prince Erosik_.

Ahsoka bolted into a sitting position, keeping a firm grip on the blankets wrapped protectively around her. "What in the— _what_ are you doing in here?"

He pointed toward his own chest, lifting his eyebrows in silent inquiry. _No, not you, Erosik, I was actually talking to Sabé,_ Ahsoka wanted to spit at him. Stars, the arrogance! He probably wouldn't have even picked up on the sarcasm, nor recognized Sabé's name. "I just got home," Prince Erosik said when she failed to respond to his wordless query. His voice carried a kind of disingenuous innocence. "I wanted to see my beautiful fiancée."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Flattery wasn't going to work on her. "First of all, you were only gone for a few hours. Secondly, you were watching me _sleep_."

"Your brother told me we had to become better acquainted."

Ahsoka could have punched him for having called Anakin her brother. Knowledge of his lies had left her head spinning with hostility and fear. Nonetheless, she took a shuddering breath and forced herself to calm down. She couldn't change her demeanour too much over the course of an evening without raising the suspicions of Prince Erosik—and, more importantly, the emperor himself. "I'm sure he didn't mean it like that," she said tersely, pulling herself out of bed.

Sabé had already removed an ensemble from the closet, a periwinkle gown with a crystal-studded bodice and layers of cascading skirts reminiscent of flower petals. Ahsoka's stomach turned at the delicate beauty of it all—a beauty she had let blind her to the evils of Anakin's Empire, a delicacy designed to blind others to a putative princess's buried strength. Nonetheless, she accepted the gown from Sabé's hands, hoping this would make a good excuse to get Prince Erosik to leave. Except that he didn't seem to know how to take a hint. Instead, he swept over to her and slipped his arms around her waist from behind.

"My parents can't wait to meet you, Ahsoka," he whispered, setting his chin between her montrals. She raised her eyebrows at Sabé. Prince Erosik apparently felt he had a right to call her by her first name now. "Your brother and I talked about the wedding—"

"Prince Erosik, I must get ready now. Please unhand me and _leave_." It took all of her courtesy to throw the "please" in there. Not that she felt he actually deserved it.

Before the prince could respond, the whine of opening doors pierced the air. Both Ahsoka and Prince Erosik turned to see Anakin looming in the doorway. From his right hand swung that horrible case—the one with the needle inside, the one that would rip Ahsoka Tano from her identity for another twelve hours. Anger boiled inside of her, both at the man who had falsely claimed to be her brother and at the boy who was still holding her when she had told him to let go. She forcefully removed his arms from around her waist and stepped forward.

Behind her, Prince Erosik and Sabé fell onto their knees. It occurred to Ahsoka that in order to maintain her status as Not A Threat, she had to do the same. Reluctantly, she slipped to the floor as well, gritting her teeth in an attempt to keep her hatred at bay.

Padmé had told her that Jedi weren't supposed to hate. Hate could lead to the Dark Side, which was what had happened to Anakin. But in this one moment, she couldn't bring herself to care.

A long moment passed. Then the click of boots sounded against the hardwood floor. The clicks grew louder, stopped again. "Get up, Ahsoka."

The princess remembered her name was Ahsoka. She remembered—or, at least, she _knew_ —a lot more than that now. But she got up anyway, and she didn't protest— _not yet,_ she told herself, _not yet_ —as he snatched her wrist and pulled her along behind him. This was their routine now. They had done this often enough to have something worth calling a _routine_. Anakin crossed to her bed, and she trailed after him. He sat down, and she did, too. Then, almost reverently, he lifted the lid of the case. The infamous needle gleamed dangerously inside.

Just the sight of it made vomit rise in her throat. As if to keep her from pulling away, he took her wrist, applied some rubbing alcohol to her upper arm, and then inserted the needle.

Ahsoka very nearly wanted to cry. She could have sworn that she could feel it as the life was numbed inside of her, numbed until it might as well have been dead. _Twelve hours._ It would be another twelve hours until her midi-chlorians would wake up. But then Anakin would administer yet another shot, and their routine would continue, over and over and over again—

Right now, Ahsoka felt as though she could hardly bear another _minute_ of it.

"Your fiancé was rather eager to see you this morning," Anakin said, when there were about ten seconds left until he would take out the needle. He sounded as pleased as she had ever heard him, which wasn't very. "I'm glad to know that the two of you are getting along so well."

Ahsoka had to bite her tongue and sink her nails into her palm to keep herself from responding.

* * *

In the evening, Anakin took Ahsoka to the Galaxies Opera House in order to celebrate her betrothal. The Coruscanti orchestra was borrowing the facility to perform some famous symphony, and the booth reserved for the royal family and their entourages had already been prepared. The seats were assigned by the emperor, and so Ahsoka found herself wedged in between Anakin and Prince Erosik. Padmé was far away from her, on the opposite end of the balcony. The handmaidens sat closer to Anakin than his wife did.

Ahsoka didn't think that was an accident.

At intermission, she and the prince left their box together, a tight formation guards in their wake. Holojournalists swarmed around the pair in clouds, chattering in delight as Prince Erosik leaned over to kiss Ahsoka between her montrals. She tensed and squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to feel the weight of his hands on her waist, wishing she weren't here at all—

"Soka," he whispered. That was another thing he had taken to calling her over the course of the day, when he was feeling particularly overconfident. "That man is looking at you."

Ahsoka blinked open her eyes and looked over her shoulder. "That man" was a holojournalist. Of _course_ he was looking at her. He was looking at Prince Erosik, too.

She clenched her jaw and turned to face the prince. For somebody who claimed to love her, he proved exceptionally bad at reading the discontent written across her features. Instead, he kept going: "I'll never be able to take my eyes off of you once we're married, will I?"

Ahsoka stared at him for a moment, aghast. Then she tugged away from him, and a disappointed sigh rippled through the crowds. She heard Prince Erosik calling her name—her _nickname_ , as though he had a right to call her that—but she didn't care. If she spent one more second around that boy, her head would probably explode.

Unfortunately, she collided with someone before she could get too far. But discouragement melted into hope as she saw Padmé before her, radiant in an elegant black ballgown whose skirts shone with diamonds. Her dark hair was coiled into two buns on either side of her head, as if to frame her tiara, and the rest cascaded down her back in an elaborate braid adorned with gold ornaments. "Your refresher," she murmured, focusing her eyes not on Ahsoka but on the opposite end of the room. "When you get home, check the refresher."

"What—" Ahsoka started. But the empress was already gone, and she was alone again.

* * *

Following the symphony, Ahsoka returned to the palace and headed straight for her bedroom. She had turned down Prince Erosik's suggestion that they take a stroll in the gardens ("Some other time," she'd said diplomatically, by which she had of course meant _not ever_ ) and even though he had nodded stiffly in agreement, she still felt paranoid enough to lock her door. Then she edged into her refresher, her heart in her throat as she battled back nerves and anticipation. The princess's suite contained a washroom ridiculously massive in size, done entirely in pink marble and complete with every frivolous luxury imaginable: Corinthian columns, a happily gurgling fountain, a crystal chandelier that dangled from the domed ceiling….

This palace had once been the Jedi Temple, and even as the babble of the water fountain lifted its hypnotizing chant— _hush hush hush_ —Ahsoka could not capitulate to the calm as she once had. What purpose had this room served in the days of the Order, she wondered? What had Anakin destroyed—only to replace it with a pointlessly extravagant _refresher,_ of all things?

It smacked of such disrespect—perhaps even pointlessly so—that she almost lost herself in a sweep of rage. Only the memory of Padmé's instructions reeled her back to reality.

She began her search by rifling through cabinets and dressers, searching for the reasoning behind the empress's directions but failing to find any. Then she caught sight of her reflection in the glass. The bruise that Anakin's binary hand had left behind was beginning to reemerge; the makeup had nearly worn off. She crossed to her vanity, picked up her concealer, and was in the process of applying it to her left cheek when she noticed something.

A disk rested on the counter in the very space where the concealer had just been. A _holodisk_. Of course. Padmé or one of her handmaidens had used the makeup container to hide it. Ahsoka picked up the disk and thumbed at the side until a hologram of Padmé burst to life.

"If you have found this, you must destroy this holo immediately after hearing my message." Even though she was not delivering the speech in real time, Padmé's eyes still burned with grave intensity. "Otherwise, we run the risk of this information falling into the wrong hands."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, everyone. Please review to let me know what you think, or favourite/follow. I really appreciate it. Thanks especially if you have already favourited, followed, or left review(s) on this story.**

 **Guest: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)**

 **-Isabelle**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Star Wars_.**

* * *

 _Rebellion._ Padmé's message was about a rebellion.

Before telling Ahsoka the truth about Anakin, Padmé had reached out to an old friend of hers, a man with whom she had associated in her days as Naboo's senator. This was Bail Organa, prince consort and viceroy of the planet Alderaan. Though he still technically "served" in the Imperial Senate, the legislative body had been mostly stripped of any significant power. Anakin held the authority to automatically pass, table, or outright veto bills as he saw fit, but he usually succeeded—most often through threats against loved ones or even entire planets—in coaxing senators to vote according to his own agenda, thus enabling himself to appear (at least in the public eye) as the embodiment of his so-called "democratic Empire".

"An oxymoron, I know," Padmé's hologram huffed in clear exasperation. "Anyway, there _is_ some good news: Bail's on Coruscant right now for a senatorial session. When I contacted him, I sent him an encrypted message, and even then I was cautious in my wording. I told him I wanted to talk about…personal matters. I just received his reply, and he has agreed to attend your wedding shower. Anakin often tends to invite senators to such events, so I figured that might be a good place to start—without rousing too much suspicion, of course."

For the next week, Ahsoka thrilled to find a new holodisk in her refresher almost every day, hidden underneath the case of concealer. She and Padmé, it seemed, had developed their own routine, one far less pernicious than hers and Anakin's. The empress recorded messages for Ahsoka, which were then smuggled into her refresher by Sabé, Lahnya, and a few other handmaidens whom Padmé had recruited. That was the only place where Ahsoka could safely watch them; after all, Anakin couldn't place security cameras in her washroom.

The disks contained stories of Ahsoka's life before Anakin had turned to the Dark Side. Padmé spoke of a time they had travelled to Alderaan together, where Ahsoka had warded off an assassination attempt and saved the empress's—no, _senator's_ —life. From another holodisk, Ahsoka learned what had happened on Raxus. She and Padmé had gone there—illegally—in order to conduct secret peace negotiations to end the Clone Wars. The name of the planet rang a vague bell, but Ahsoka couldn't quite place it…at least not until Padmé's hologram, with a knowing smile, mentioned Lux Bonteri, the boy she had met at the ball.

Despite the holodisks, however, and the brief pockets of joy they introduced into Ahsoka's days, the rest of the week proved to be pure hell. She had to drag herself to court sessions and formal luncheons where she was permitted only to sit quietly, even as she yearned to do _anything_ that might distract her from Anakin's presence. She could hardly even bring herself to _look_ at him anymore. She knew now why she had been so instinctively terrified of him upon her awakening. She knew now, thanks to what Padmé had told her about her Jedi history, why she had believed crying and marriage to be shameful. She knew now why Anakin had refused to tell her about the cylindrical object on his belt, why he had insisted that she should act "quiet and demure", why _he_ was always the one who personally administered her "medication"….

She knew it all, everything he had tried so desperately to keep from her. And yet that still didn't quite feel like compensation. Nothing, she knew, ever would.

* * *

The wedding shower of Prince Erosik and Princess Ahsoka was not simply a one-day affair. Rather, it took the form of a week-long series of balls and banquets, designed to distract politicians and nobility from the fact that the galaxy was now a living dystopia.

It was meant to distract Ahsoka, too. It was meant to make her appreciate her perfect, beautiful life as a princess of the Galactic Empire. But the glittery sheen had been stripped away, and all that remained for her to see were the _punishments_. The severe limitations on her freedom, the eyes and cameras that watched her wherever she went, the constant yet unspoken threats that might be fulfilled if she were to disobey Anakin or even Erosik….

The emperor was punishing her for having refused to become his Sith apprentice.

In the midst of the preparations, Ahsoka found herself in a fitting room, her image reflected countless times over by a three-panelled mirror. Anakin had hired Sylviana Chère, one of Naboo's most celebrated designers, to fashion two new lines of gowns for the week of the wedding shower—one for the empress in rich tones of red, purple, and blue; the other for the princess in more "innocent" shades of pale pink, lavender, yellow, and the like.

 _Innocent_. Of course Anakin would want her to think of herself as _innocent_. Innocent and quiet and naïve and unquestioning— _"stay quiet, stay_ quiet, _be a_ good _girl, Ahsoka"_ —

—She grit her teeth at the memories and bit back a rising scream of anger—

—And as Chère and her assistants bustled around her, taking her measurements and matching pastels with her eye colour or skin tone, she couldn't help but think that her old self would have been absolutely horrified to see where she was now. _Ahsoka Tano._ She closed her eyes and, lips only slightly parted, mouthed the name, trying to make it her own. He had stolen it from her and it was rightfully _hers,_ a gift from a lost past, but she still felt so removed from this mythical "Ahsoka Tano" that it was difficult to truly process: Ahsoka was _her_. A _Jedi_. It was almost as if she were imagining a dead relative, one whom she had never really known. Not _herself_.

She reopened her eyes as an assistant wrapped a measuring tape tightly around her waist and then jotted something down on a piece of flimsiplast. Sylviana Chère circled her model, muttering something about a shimmery, pale blue silk that "perfectly complemented Her Highness's eyes", but Ahsoka was only half-listening. She had become distracted by the reflection that sat behind hers, dressed in stiff attire and medals that she was certain he had not earned. Prince Erosik had been staring intently at Ahsoka for over an hour now, and he couldn't even bother to hide it. Like he was _that_ confident she wouldn't mind him looking at her in her corset and petticoat, when _he_ was the one who had barged in in the first place.

"You should go, Prince Erosik," she said. She'd said that quite a few times, actually. Whenever she did, he gave a tentative laugh, like he thought she was joking. "I mean it," she added.

Prince Erosik stopped laughing. Instead, he blew out some air and slumped ungracefully in his chair. "Don't make me _leave,_ Soka. I came to get away from your brother."

"Really."

"Yeah. He's in a _foul_ mood. He was going on about this uprising on Chandrila—"

When she heard that, Ahsoka froze. _Uprising?_ "What?"

"There's this group of rebels on Chandrila. Wreaking havoc in the name of 'freedom'." Prince Erosik made air quotations with his fingers. Ahsoka stiffened, her own wide-eyed reflection gazing back at her. "Don't you worry," the prince added condescendingly. He had a way of always sounding condescending when he talked to her. "Your brother will take care of them."

Ahsoka blinked. Her heart beat out a hectic rhythm, interlaced with twinges of hope. "Is he leaving?" she asked. She tried to imbed in her tone a hint of panic, like she just wouldn't know what to _do_ without Anakin. She still worried that she came off as excited, though.

In any case, Prince Erosik didn't seem to notice. " _We're_ leaving," he clarified, as Chère fastened a swath of silk around Ahsoka's waist. "You, me, your brother, the empress…"

 _Oh._ She deflated, even as she wondered—somewhat bitterly—why she had gotten her hopes up in the first place. Of course Anakin wouldn't leave Ahsoka and Padmé alone together at the palace. They were coming along to Chandrila so that he could keep an eye on them. Of that, Ahsoka was sure. Anakin usually didn't like her leaving the palace, let alone the planet.

 _Wonder why,_ she thought wryly, even as she recognized the flip side of the situation. If there were other people who wanted an end to the Empire, and they were already in open rebellion…maybe, just maybe, Padmé would be able to talk them into joining her revolution.

* * *

As the royal yacht raced toward Chandrila, swallowed by the blue and white streaks of hyperspace, Ahsoka lay across a sofa in her private chambers, in desperate need of something to do. She and Anakin had come on board the _Empress Shmi_ about an hour ago, and he had at once rushed off to take care of some "official business". Not that she wanted to spend time around him, anyway. She felt sick now in his presence and usually struggled to keep herself from trembling. But Anakin just assumed that she was still frightened of him after the incident in the treasury. Worse, she got the sense that her fear almost pleased him.

If she could, she would have tried to talk to Padmé in person. She hadn't spoken a word to the empress since the symphony, and she needed to fill her in on the meeting with Master Kenobi and ask what Padmé thought she should do to avoid her shot. Unfortunately, the empress wasn't even on the same yacht as Ahsoka. She and Erosik had boarded a separate vehicle for "extra security". _Extra security._ Anakin just wanted to keep Ahsoka and Padmé as far apart as possible so that they couldn't conspire against him. But Ahsoka had to admit, she didn't mind the fact that she got an hours-long break from her betrothed.

Simply the thought of Erosik proved enough to spark a flare of anger, and Ahsoka pulled herself off of the couch and paced furiously around the room. She couldn't quite figure out what exactly it was that she hated about Prince Erosik. It was everything, really. The supercilious attitude he adopted around her. The fact that he didn't even really respect her as an equal. Whenever they danced, he always wanted to lead. He said he was _supposed_ to lead, because of some sexist, arbitrary set of rules and double standards. But she had seen what she was capable of in those holos and _that_ boy, with his patriarchal beliefs and disgustingly possessive nature, was in no way superior to her. How was it that he couldn't do anything important to save his own life, yet he still acted as though she were _so_ fortunate to get to be his bride?

If only she could show him those security holos. If only she could show him that she wasn't really so quiet and demure, as Anakin liked to put it. Ahsoka frowned at the floor, lifting her pale yellow skirts to reveal the toes of her stilettos. After a moment of deliberation, she kicked them off and charged toward the sofa, like she had seen herself do while duelling Anakin. She would grab onto the back and just see—maybe she could still throw herself over it without the Force.

But before she could make the attempt, her heel snagged on the hem of her long skirts, and she tumbled to the ground with a quiet _thud_. Slivers of pain shot through her right hip, and though she tried to regain her composure, her adrenaline and excitement were already dissipating. Instead, disappointment and discouragement flooded back in to replace them, and she pressed a weary hand to her temple as she shakily climbed back to her feet.

What had she been thinking? She didn't even remember how to defend herself, let alone somersault through thin air. And the gowns that Anakin made her wear were of course too restrictive. Force, he had thought of every possible way to control her. Sometimes she couldn't even breathe in her corset. He could at least let her _breathe,_ couldn't he?

Ahsoka shook her head to clear her thoughts and re-centred herself. This time, she would try something more reasonable, and eventually she would work her way up to where she had been before. Ahsoka hauled her skirts up to her knees and attempted one of the kicks she had seen herself perform in the duel. Though she had to twist her body slightly to the side, she was able to extend her leg at a ninety degree angle without bending at the knee. When she tried a subsequent kick that was slightly higher, she was pleased to find that her leg stayed straight. Okay. She could work with this. At least she hadn't lost her flexibility.

She experimented with a few more kicks and then attempted to slide into the splits. It was a bit awkward, having to work around all those layers of skirts, but she managed without too much trouble. Maybe, while she was still trying to figure out how to access the Force, she could teach herself some basic self-defence skills. If Lahnya were to take her place at night, she could even disguise herself as a member of the royal guard and train alongside them….

Ahsoka tried to picture herself as a soldier. Her! A soldier! She held a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, even as she knew that it wasn't such a strange concept. She had been one, once. She had been a commander, for Force's sake! A fourteen-year-old commander!

And _now_ here she was. A princess. Betrothed to a boy she didn't want to marry.

 _That_ thought fuelled her determination like nothing else could. She assumed a fighting stance from the holovid Padmé had shown her: shoulders thrown back, right foot positioned in front of the left, knees bent. Her kicks grew fierce, frantic, and with a gasp for breath she succeeded in lifting her leg at nearly a 180 degree angle, still without bending at the knee—

Unfortunately, that was when Anakin sauntered in.

Ahsoka snapped immediately into an attentive position, legs locked together and arms rigid at her sides. She felt a droplet of sweat dribble incriminatingly down her forehead and fought the urge to wipe it away. She could have sworn that Anakin had seen her practicing those kicks. She stood like that for a moment, posture perfectly stiff and mind racing with worry, before she remembered that she was supposed to bow. She slid to the ground, touching her forehead to the floor. At least she no longer had to look at Anakin. That would make it easier to lie.

"What were you just doing, Princess?" he demanded. His diction was impeccable, and Ahsoka stiffened despite herself. That was not good. He only ever enunciated his words with such precision _and_ called her by her title when he grew extremely suspicious of her.

"I was practicing," she said smoothly. At least, that was how she _hoped_ she sounded. "Dancing. Prince Erosik told me I needed to work on my dancing."

There. Anakin would be pleased that she was listening to her fiancé. The lie actually did come from truth; the prince _had_ told her that she needed to work on her dancing. He wouldn't stop complaining about how she would never let him lead like she was _supposed_ to.

Stars, she couldn't _stand_ him.

There was a long pause. Then Anakin said, "Yeah. He's right. Get up, Ahsoka."

She did. The emperor reached out for her, then stopped. " _Why_ are you barefoot?"

Ahsoka looked down at her feet. She had forgotten that she had kicked off her shoes. "Sometimes," she said through gritted teeth, "it gets uncomfortable wearing heels all day."

Her tone must have sounded too saucy to Anakin, because yellow flames flashed in his eyes, and he took an aggressive step towards her. Ahsoka lurched backwards with an involuntary gasp, clasping a reflexive hand over her left cheek. After a moment choked with tension, the emperor's posture relaxed and his eyes softened back into blue, though they did not lose their violent intensity. "That's what I thought. Go put on your shoes and come back over here."

So she did. Her heart continued to pound against her ribcage, even though she didn't think that Anakin was going to hurt her. Besides, if worst came to worst, she could always try to defend herself. She was more concerned that her defiance was beginning to surface, and the emperor had noticed. She didn't want to remind him too much of Ahsoka Tano. Not yet, anyway.

"Take my shoulders," Anakin demanded. She did. She knew _that_ much. Then he took her waist and led her through a few basic steps. Ahsoka could hardly focus. All she could think was that this man had brutally tortured her, and now she was _waltzing_ with him. "One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three," he kept murmuring. "One, two, three, one, two, three…"

 _One, two, three, four, five, six…_ Before she could stop herself, Ahsoka counted up to thirty-four. _Thirty-four minutes,_ Padmé had said. _Thirty-four minutes straight._

Ahsoka shuddered violently.

Anakin didn't seem to notice, even as she dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades to steady herself. He was a good teacher; she supposed she had to give him that. He knew exactly how to present the information so that she would remember it. _Almost as if he's had practice,_ she thought wryly, trying to imagine a time when she was his student. She couldn't. Not really. Anakin was too violent, controlling, aggressive. She couldn't see him as the gentle man whom Padmé had described, so determined to keep her genuinely safe and content.

"One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three…"

And yet, maddened by the lull of the rhythm, maybe she _could_ see it. They worked well together as student and teacher. And maybe, in another universe, under different circumstances, when he had been such a different person…she had admired him. She had _trusted_ him. An intense yearning clawed its way to the forefront of her mind. If only she could remember what it had been like before, when they were both Jedi. If only it could be like that again.

But she knew that time was over. The Anakin Skywalker whom Padmé had described was gone. All she could do now was ensure that Ahsoka Tano, at least, would survive.

* * *

There was a parade to celebrate the Imperial royal family upon their arrival in Hanna City, Chandrila. Two closed-roof carriages, decorated in a traditionally ornate manner but driven by a modern autopilot system, rolled down the streets of the Eleutherian Plaza. A sea of bodies swarmed around the parade on either side, cheering and shouting as they waited to catch a glimpse of the carriages' occupants. In the first were Emperor Vader and his wife, Empress Amidala. In the second were Princess Ahsoka and her fiancé, Prince Erosik.

Throughout the entire ride, the prince had caressed her left hand, feeling for her engagement ring. She couldn't go a few minutes around him without some unwanted reminder of their impending marriage, and so she nearly took a sigh of relief as their vehicle rolled to a stop.

Ahsoka pushed aside the velvet curtains that covered her window, watching as Anakin marched out of his carriage. A hush instantly swept through the crowd as they took notice of his mask, armour, and military-grade boots. The emperor was clearly on Chandrila for war, not diplomacy, and no one wanted to be confused for a rebel. No one wanted to become his next target.

Padmé stepped out of the carriage as well, linking her arm through Anakin's. In contrast to her husband's black military attire, she wore a traditional Naboo jubilation gown, complete with white, ruffled skirts and pale pink veils that fluttered from her diamond-and-pearl tiara. They streamed out behind her as she glided down the street, a delicate accent to her chestnut curls. Ahsoka had learned from Sylviana Chère that queens and princesses of Naboo typically wore such gowns to honour other officials and leaders. She couldn't shake the irony, then, that Anakin had come not to pay homage to the Chandrilans but to obliterate their planet's rebellion.

Ahsoka and Erosik were next to make an appearance, sweeping out of their carriage with his arm already around her waist. She noticed that the crowds seemed to relax when they saw the two of them together. Everyone, after all, adored the young "love story" of the prince and princess—as depicted by the HoloNet, of course. Ahsoka suspected that all anyone knew about her—well, anyone who wasn't named Padmé, Anakin, Sabé, Lahnya, or Master Kenobi—was that she was "madly in love" with Prince Erosik. Anakin didn't allow holojournalists to share much else with the galaxy when it came to the princess's identity, probably out of fear that someone would recognize her as Commander Tano. Even the prince himself seemed convinced that she was infatuated with him, despite her constantly cold demeanour.

The new royal family of Chandrila—King Laric Caarino and his only daughter, a lanky girl around Ahsoka's age who sported a riot of blonde curls—stood on the steps of the recently-built palace, accompanied by a few Chandrilan nobles and elites. Padmé had told Ahsoka via hologram that Anakin had appointed puppet monarchies on all of the Core Worlds, though he didn't want her to know that. He wanted her to think that this family had been royalty for generations—that the Empire and its established hierarchies were that old.

The king's greying beard and balding head betrayed the fact that he was multiple decades older than Anakin. Furthermore, his most amiable greeting involved a slight wavering of his voice, as though he feared the emperor might suspect _him_ of having played a role in the rebellion. His daughter, Princess Nadila, watched the crowd through narrowed eyes, but whenever her gaze landed upon Ahsoka, her expression contorted into something akin to outright hatred.

The king was blabbering on and on about Chandrila's deep gratitude for Anakin's presence, but the emperor cut him off. "Don't be _grateful_ , King Caarino," he said, the vocal modulator warping his voice so that it echoed ominously throughout the plaza. "I have come to finish what you were unable to do. Do not forget that this incident has made your emperor extremely dis—"

Hysterical screams and gasps suddenly undulated through the air, and Anakin seized Padmé by her hair and yanked her out of the way. The blaster bolt slammed against the pavement, branding it with a smoldering, black mark. Ahsoka stared at it numbly. Somebody had tried to hit Anakin, she realized. And they had missed. They had almost hit Padmé instead.

Guards marched out of seemingly nowhere to surround the royal family, but Anakin pushed past them to survey the terrified crowd. "Don't bother hiding from me," he announced at last. Ahsoka felt Erosik grab her around the waist, as if he could protect her or something. She thought that maybe she should risk a glance at Padmé, but when she did, the empress wasn't looking at her. Padmé's face had drained of all colour, and she was shaking her head slightly as she stared at Anakin with wide eyes. Her lips moved repeatedly around a single word: _No, no, no…._

"I _know_ where you are!" Anakin boomed. Then he lifted his hand and a person—a young boy, perhaps even younger than Ahsoka—rose off of the ground. He was already clutching at his neck, the sound of his choking heavy in the terror-stricken air. A few of the crowd members began to heave with sobs. "You tried to kill me, and as a result, you almost killed my wife! You still thought you would be able to wriggle out of any form of punishment?"

The emperor jerked his wrist to the left and a _crack_ pierced the air, searing the moment with a sickening finality as the boy's neck snapped. Anakin released his hold on him, and his body plummeted back to the ground. Shrieks ripped from the crowd as its members tried to jump out of the way of the corpse. "I expect you should have our rooms prepared, King Caarino," Anakin said, turning away from the scene as though it had never even happened. "Your servants will show us to our chambers and assist us in getting settled, then you and I shall discuss the chaotic state of affairs on your planet. Come along, Padmé, Ahsoka."

The guards subsided slowly, and Ahsoka took Prince Erosik's arm and followed Anakin inside. She noticed that Princess Nadila's glare intensified as she did so. She must have seen the HoloNet stories about Ahsoka, and now she figured that she was the obedient, love-struck girl those holojournalists made her out to be. If only she knew the truth. If only she knew.

* * *

 **So, I know there was a slightly longer wait than usual for this chapter, and I'm sorry about that. I had a bit of writer's block this week, but I managed to recover from it, as you can see. ;) Also, I had to do some research on Chandrila, so that took a bit longer than usual, too.**

 **(Can someone explain to me why the Senate Building is apparently in Eleutherian Plaza and not the Senate Plaza? Ah!)**

 **Thanks again to all of my reviewers. Sunny and Guest, you both made my day! Please leave a review if you are enjoying the story so far or just want to let me know what you think.**

 **Next chapter, we should delve into figuring out more about this rebellion on Chandrila...**

 **Love, Isabelle**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey, everyone! I'm back! So, yes, I know that it's been over a week. I was actually quite flattered to receive a review requesting an update. I guess that means that you're enjoying this story enough to remind me of that!**

 **I do have some excuses: I had a crazy week filled with tons of homework, lots of musical rehearsals, and I had a piano/vocal music contest all day yesterday. So as you can imagine, I had to be pretty creative about finding time to write, and this was a challenging (but eventful!) chapter. But don't worry, I have definitely not abandoned this story or anything. :) More updates are on their way!**

 **Thanks to Guest and Hope reigns on for your kind reviews! Sorry about making Anakin so cruel, as you both commented on it. I figured it was more in his character for this particular story. After all, he is closer to the Vader/Sith Lord end of the spectrum than the Anakin/Jedi Knight one.**

 **All right. Sorry for the long author's note, and here's Chapter 9! As you all know already, I do not own _Star Wars_.**

 **-Isabelle ;)**

* * *

Connection to the world of dreams was a delicate thing, and in the middle of the night, it inevitably snapped. Ahsoka noticed through a sleepy haze the rapid jolting of her body—back and forth, as if someone were shaking her by the shoulders. Groggily, she battled against the heaviness that now weighed down her eyelids, blinking them open halfway.

"Come _on,_ Your Highness." The voice emerged as a whisper, amplified only by its urgency, and Ahsoka finally registered that falling back asleep was not an option. When she managed to fully open her eyes, she saw that Lahnya was hovering over her, the tips of her lekku dangling only a few centimeters from Ahsoka's face. With a huff of impatience, she seized the princess's hands and dragged her out of bed. "We're switching places," she hissed, once they were in the refresher. "Give me your nightgown. Sabé's taking you to meet with the Chandrilan rebels."

"What—" Ahsoka stammered. She hadn't known she would get a glimpse of the rebellion at all, but now that Lahnya mentioned it, the prospect sort of excited her. She did as her handmaiden instructed and donned the uniform, smoothing the skirt out of habit.

Sabé, as Lahnya had promised, was waiting outside of the princess's sleeping chambers, cloaked beneath the shadows cast by tall doors and arches. She slipped an arm around Ahsoka's shoulders and hurried her down the hallway, muttering about chores that _Lahnya_ had yet to do and half-heartedly scolding her for taking so long to attend to the princess.

But the vicious _snap_ of a silken cloak interrupted her jabbering, and Sabé yanked Ahsoka behind the velvet curtains of a nearby window. They watched, fixated, as a large shadow plodded along the hallway, the chilling echo of his breath hovering precariously in the air. Sabé's grip tightened around Ahsoka's shoulders. Both women knew exactly who it was, even before he drew close enough to a window that moonlight fell upon his mask. _Emperor Vader._

Ahsoka and Sabé waited until he was long out of sight to move again. The former hardly dared to breathe. Anakin had almost _seen_ her. He had physically lashed out at her when she had found her lightsabers. What would he do if he knew she was trying to sneak out?

"Come on, Princess," Sabé whispered, shaking Ahsoka from her thoughts. She turned to face her and saw the hint of compassion that glinted behind Sabé's eyes. It was still enough to invoke a burst of warm gratitude in her chest. "Let's get you where you're supposed to be."

* * *

Lahnya couldn't have been in bed for more than two minutes before the shriek of an opening door pierced the air. She made a fist underneath the covers, just barely biting back the urge to curse out loud. Of course she hoped this visitor was only Rabé, Yané, or Eirtaé, come to tell her that Princess Ahsoka had made it safely out of the Chandrilan Palace, but Lahnya knew that the Empress Padmé wasn't that careless. She wouldn't allow her handmaidens to send a message if it meant simultaneously jeopardizing the secrecy of the mission.

Sure enough, when the mysterious visitor sat upon the mattress, it sank considerably beneath their weight. Lahnya discreetly buried her face against a silk pillowcase. Thank the Force she had already had her back turned to the door. She and the princess looked almost identical from behind; their lekku stripes were the same colour and their skin tones were an almost perfect match. Besides, it wasn't as though this stranger would be able to see her well in the dark, and—most importantly—no one had good reason to suspect that the princess was sneaking out in the first place. They wouldn't be _looking_ for differences, and that would play in her favour.

On the other hand, if she were caught…impersonating the princess was punishable by death.

"I'm leaving now, Ahsoka," boomed a metallic voice, ironically in the closest thing to a whisper that it could manage. Lahnya ground her teeth together. Of course it was the _emperor_. She had been hoping it would be the princess's fiancé or something. He was a creep, but at least he couldn't kill her by flicking his wrist or shooting lightning through his fingertips.

She heard a _hiss_ as Emperor Vader removed his helmet, setting it heavily on the bed. "I'm going to track down whoever's wreaking havoc on this planet and make them _pay_ ," he growled. "Whoever was behind the attempt on my life today. All of those rebel scum will be _dead_."

Lahnya tightened her grip on the blanket to fend off the sting of panic. If the emperor found the rebel base too quickly, he might also find Princess Ahsoka and Empress Padmé…

…And Lahnya had no way to warn them.

The young handmaiden could feel the emperor's gaze on her, and her skin crawled. She thought for a moment that he might squeeze her upper arm, or kiss her between her montrals, or something like what _her_ older brothers had done—before she had been dragged away from them by the emperor's troops. But he didn't. He just sat there and stared at her.

She knew, of course, that Emperor Vader wasn't really the princess's brother, that she had been kidnapped and forced into that role, just as Lahnya herself had been. But she had also assumed that the emperor—in private, if nothing else—would be at least a little bit affectionate towards his supposed sister, especially given that their history dated back to the Clone Wars.

Apparently not.

In all honesty, Lahnya had resented the Princess Ahsoka for the longest time. She had known, from the Empress Padmé, that the emperor was feeding her lie after lie after lie, but what did it matter, really? It wasn't as though the princess could remember a family or a home that had been stolen away from her. It wasn't as though she spent every day yearning for her old life or mourning the dreams she had lost. In fact, Emperor Vader had practically handed her everything on a silver platter: silks and satins and precious gemstones….

But now, Lahyna felt almost _sorry_ for the princess. Silks and satins were no substitute for an identity of her own, and _this_ —life as the sister of the feared Emperor Vader—was all that she could remember. Lahnya had never once seen the emperor hug the Princess Ahsoka, or carry out a conversation with her that wasn't saturated with hidden threats.

She _had_ seen the bruise on her cheek. She _had_ seen the holovids of her torture.

Finally, the emperor's voice shattered the uncomfortable silence. "I'm doing this all for _you_ , you know," he said. "I'm doing this all to protect you and Padmé."

There was another awkward moment of stillness, as if he were waiting for a response, something to confirm that he wasn't actually as selfish and cruel as the rest of the galaxy made him out to be. Naturally, no response came. Instead, Lahnya listened as the emperor stood and padded toward the doors, slamming them shut behind him.

* * *

She found herself before another old building, so isolated from civilization that it had suffered a humiliating dilapidation. Clearly, nobody had since bothered to mend this ruinous state, and as Sabé opened the door and pulled Ahsoka inside, the princess feared the slanted roof might crumble and clatter down on top of them. Of course it didn't, but the uncertainty lingered.

Sabé strolled around the room for a minute, as though looking for something specific. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with food products that were obviously too old now to legally sell, though Ahsoka couldn't imagine that anyone cared in an area as abandoned as this. In fact, she had begun to suspect that this wasn't a real store so much as a way to disguise the rebel base. After all, it _had_ to be nearby, or else Sabé wouldn't have brought her here.

Finally, Sabé wandered over to the cash register, where a man around her own age was trying to glance at her discreetly. Ahsoka could tell, from the single moment they met eyes, that they already knew each other. Sabé leaned on the counter and deliberately drummed her fingertips against its surface for a few moments. Then, when Ahsoka came a bit closer, she murmured, "My colleague and I are looking for some caf. You don't seem to have any."

The man leaned back in his chair, crossing a pair of muscular arms over his chest. "No," he said slowly. "But we might have some in the back, if you and your friend come with me."

Sabé nodded and gestured for Ahsoka to follow. The three of them filed into the back room, and the man shut the door—and _locked_ it. Ahsoka glanced worriedly at Sabé, but the latter gave her head a calm shake and Ahsoka a reassuring smile. She swallowed hard and refocused her gaze on the man, expecting him to unlock the door on the opposite side of the room. Instead, he hauled a large rug to the side and pried up one of the floorboards, revealing a trap door.

The man bent to the ground, slipped a key from his pocket, and inserted it into the lock. As he hefted open the trap door, Ahsoka caught glimpse of a staircase that plummeted into the depths beneath them, lit only by extremely dim lights attached to either wall. "Thank you," Sabé said with true gratitude, hurrying Ahsoka inside somewhat absent-mindedly.

The princess started down the stairs, but she kept alert. Sure enough, as she moved out of human earshot, Sabé again addressed her friend. She must have assumed that Ahsoka wouldn't be able to hear her, but she had forgotten that Togrutan montrals could pick up sounds from extraordinarily long distances. "Thank you for still trusting me, Tonra," she whispered. As Ahsoka glanced over her shoulder, Sabé reached as if to run her fingers through the man's dark hair, but she soon dropped her hand as she thought the better of it. "We're here to help. Padmé is most grateful that you also want to partake in the struggle against the Empire."

When Sabé finally left her friend—Tonra, as she had called him—and caught up to Ahsoka, she decided to address her relationship with him. "You know each other."

"We do."

"How?"

For a long moment, Sabé hesitated. Then she said, "We both worked for Empress Amidala, while she was the Queen of Naboo. He served in the royal guard, and I was the queen's decoy and handmaiden. He's the reason we even know where this rebel base in located."

"But how did he come into contact with you again? And how did you know to trust each other?"

Sabé stared straight ahead, nearly unblinking, as though fixated on something Ahsoka could not see. "We never _broke_ contact with each other. I told him offhandedly in a transmission that I was coming to Chandrila, because I knew the Empire had transferred him there to protect the new royal family. I had my suspicions about his involvement in the uprising, so I hinted at Empress Amidala's, er… _efforts_ at the Imperial Palace. I didn't tell him anything out loud, of course, but…he understood. That's how we came to receive our intelligence. He's already smuggled in the empress so that she can speak with the leader of the Chandrilan Rebellion."

"Oh," Ahsoka said. She hadn't realized that Padmé was already so far ahead of them.

After a few more moments, the staircase tapered to an end, and Ahsoka and Sabé stepped into a dark corridor. Sabé's lips turned into a concentrated frown, and she closed her eyes and rapped her fist against the wall blocking their path. A precise pattern of knocks reverberated through the air and then faded away, leaving nothing but silence in their wake—

—Until the wall _split_ down the middle with a deafening rumble, sliding apart to reveal…a base.

And Ahsoka gasped audibly, nearly clamping a hand over her mouth in shock. She had never _seen_ so many computers assembled in one place. And the people, all those people—sweeping through the aisles from one screen to the next, talking to or even yelling at each other, punching symbols and numbers on their keyboards with a sort of ferocious precision—the sight both terrified Ahsoka and sent shivers of excitement racing down her spine.

All of these people wanted an end to the Empire. _All_ of them!

And this was only one planet.

Sabé swept Ahsoka inside as quickly as possible, effectively shattering the princess's train of thought, and the wall sealed itself shut behind them. The force of the collision was so great that it sent a wave of vibrations shuddering through the floor. "We're going to find Empress Amidala," Sabé announced. "She should be in conference with Senator Mon Mothma."

Ahsoka wasn't sure who that was, but she nodded. "Okay."

Sabé tilted her head and examined her for a moment, a curious expression playing across her features. "Stay close to me," she advised at last. "Some of the people here may be reluctant to trust you, especially once they realize that you're not actually Lahnya."

Ahsoka nodded at the ground. "I know," she said.

Sabé, satisfied for the time being, put a hand on Ahsoka's shoulder and began to lead her through the base. They had just turned yet another corner when they collided with a particularly large crowd, all of its members apparently in a rush to get somewhere. Ahsoka felt her knees sink against a cold durasteel floor and looked up in a panic. She couldn't see Sabé; in fact, she was swarmed on all sides by strangers. "Sabé?" she called. "Sabé!"

A pale hand, the same skin tone as Sabé's, stuck out of the crowd to help her up. Ahsoka grasped onto it, assuming that it belonged to the person she had just addressed—but then she locked eyes with the girl who had pulled her to her feet, and her heart dropped.

This girl wasn't Sabé. No. But she certainly wasn't a stranger, either.

 _"_ _You!"_ gasped Princess Nadila of Chandrila. She dropped Ahsoka's hand as though it were infected, leaping backward multiple paces at a time. As Nadila threw a frantic glance over her shoulder, Ahsoka followed her gaze and caught sight of the princess's companion. Even in simple attire, Countess Emalina was stunning, with light brown skin and thick, dark curls that tumbled down her back. She had been at Princess Nadila's side almost the entire evening, at the extravagant ball thrown to celebrate the arrival of the Imperial royal family.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Nadila demanded. Even as she straightened her posture, drawing on her royal authority, her voice cracked in betrayal of her fear. "Oh, _kriff,"_ she swore through threatening tears. "What do you think she's _doing_ here, Emalina?"

The countess simply glanced between the other two girls, at a loss for words. Nadila, on the other hand, was _not_. "Are you here with your _brother_ , Your Highness?" she snapped, now trembling ferociously. "Are you here with him? Is he going to snap all of _our_ necks, too? Is he going to strip us of everything we've worked for over the past—"

 _"_ _No,"_ Ahsoka insisted. "No, I'm not. I'm _not_ with him—"

"Oh, I'm _sure,"_ Nadila sneered, nodding her head as if to give the illusion of keeping calm. Of course it was all a lie; her cheeks and neck were already flushed red, and she shook with derisive laughter. "Don't try lying to _me,_ Princess. I know your type. I've been reading all about you on the HoloNet. My father wanted me to be just like you, you know."

"What?" Ahsoka stammered. "I don't—"

"Understand?" Nadila finished for her. "Of course you don't understand. Your brother does all of your thinking for you. He tells you to do something, and you obey."

Ahsoka sucked in an indignant breath through her teeth. "I'm _not_ actually like that!"

"No?" Princess Nadila took a step toward her and gave a mocking pout, her emerald eyes blazing. For just a second, Ahsoka could almost see Anakin in her place, and her heart plunged to her stomach. "You mean, Princess, that you wouldn't watch your brother publicly _snap_ a _teenager's_ neck, then blindly trail after him when you told you to 'come along'?"

"Don't _call_ him my brother!" Ahsoka cried. "He's not my—"

"And your _fiancé_ ," Nadila seethed. When Emalina reached to set a calming hand on her shoulder, the Chandrilan princess brushed her off. "I talked to him for two _minutes_ today. When I asked him why he loved you, do you know what he said? That you're so young and pretty. And he respects your brother for his intelligence and strength. Not _you,_ Princess. Your _brother_. How could anyone with even a _sliver_ of self respect agree to get married to a man like that?"

"But I _never_ agreed!" Ahsoka didn't realize she had raised her voice until a hush swept through the computer lab, followed by a multitude of eyes darting toward her. For once, though, she didn't even care. "I've tried to argue with him before. You know what happened?" She took a deep breath and scrubbed at her left cheek with the back of her hand. She had only ever removed the makeup in the privacy of her chambers on Coruscant, where Anakin felt confident that nobody but him would see the proof of her mistreatment. While on Chandrila, however, he had made it clear that she was to keep her bruise hidden every hour of every day.

Not anymore. Nadila inhaled shakily and clasped a hand over her chest, and Ahsoka looked down at the concealer now smeared along the back of her hand. "He's abusive," Nadila realized quietly, her voice trembling. "Kriff, I'm—I'm a terrible person. You need to get out—"

"You don't think I'm trying?" Ahsoka demanded, her tone sharpened by an edge of resentment. "That's the whole reason I'm _here_. This"—she brushed a gentle hand against her left cheek—"isn't even the worst of it. In the earliest days of the Empire, I fought Vader. I _fought_ him! But he captured me and dragged me back to the Imperial Palace, and then…"

She tapered off as she realized that her shoulders were shuddering, her throat raw with pent-up sobs. "…And then he _erased_ my identity. He tortured me and broke into my mind and stole _all_ of my memories. When I woke up six months later, he told me that I was his sister and, by extent, an Imperial princess. He led me to believe that he was the only person I could trust, and so I acted exactly as he told me I should—that is, completely helpless and dependent on him." She shook her head and blinked back angry tears. "I know the truth now. The emperor took more from me than he did from anyone else. I used to be a Jedi. And _now_ look at me!"

The room descended into such a pristine silence that Ahsoka could have heard a pin drop. "You used to be a Jedi," Princess Nadila said at last. Her mouth hung open slightly as she exchanged a disbelieving glance with Countess Emalina. "You used to be a _Jedi?"_

"Yes," Ahsoka whispered, reaching to wipe a single tear from her cheek. "I was his student. Vader's. _Anakin's._ While he was still on the Light Side. But he betrayed my trust, and now…now he doesn't even let me use the Force anymore…and sometimes he makes me wear these corsets, and I can't breathe, and I can't move in those skirts, and Prince Erosik…"

She realized that she was rambling as she noticed the skepticism in Countess Emalina's eyes. "You can't be a Jedi," she said, but she sounded as though she were trying to convince herself rather than Ahsoka. "All of the Jedi were persecuted and murdered—"

"—During the Great Jedi Purge, I know," Ahsoka finished. "But not all of them. Ana—er, _Vader_ spared me. He wanted me to become his Sith apprentice. But I refused, and now this is his way of punishing me for it. He couldn't just _kill_ me. He had to force me to submit to him first."

Before she could think the better of it, Ahsoka turned back toward Princess Nadila. She was still staring at her in shock, but somehow she mustered the composure to announce, "Well, then." The corners of her lips pulled into a hesitant smirk. "You've actually got a temper."

Ahsoka swallowed hard as her cheeks and lekku grew warm. She nodded.

"Yeah," Nadila murmured to herself, planting her hands on her hips. "You do, don't you? And a heck of a lot of bravery, Princess, to keep fighting after all the emperor's done to you."

"Just Ahsoka," she hastened to correct her. "I'm not a real princess."

"Well, neither am I," Nadila laughed bitterly. "That doesn't seem to stop my father from getting all pompous about his new kingship, just because he was one of the few politicians on Chandrila willing to suck up to the emperor. But very well, 'Just Ahsoka'. You should come with me. There's someone you need to meet, and I think he'll want to see you, too."

* * *

Nadila led Ahsoka through identical, grey hallways with floors that left tinny echoes of footsteps lingering in the air. The rebel base—comprised of offices, private chambers, and training rooms in addition to the massive computer lab—was surprisingly large for having been built beneath a tiny, worn-down shop. Then again, Ahsoka supposed that was part of the genius.

Nadila came to a stop before one of the training rooms and cracked open the door. Quite a few people were already gathered inside, most of whom were in their twenties or thirties, though Ahsoka noticed some people around her own age, as well. Nadila scanned the crowd before heading toward a young man in the corner. His back was to Ahsoka, but she could see that both his brown hair and the back of his neck were drenched in sweat.

"Senator Bonteri," said Princess Nadila. For a moment, Ahsoka just hovered in the threshold, trying to remember where she had heard that name. She was pretty sure that Padmé—

 _Bonteri._

Her throat closed up. _Bonteri._ As in…as in _Lux_ Bonteri. The boy she had met at the ball. The boy whom Anakin had Force-choked, just because he had caught him talking to her.

Senator Bonteri turned around. Ahsoka felt a strange urge to leave the room, but her legs wouldn't move. For whatever reason, her stomach was tying itself into knots. What if he didn't want to see her again? _No._ She was being ridiculous. There _was_ no "what if". Of course he wouldn't want to see her again. If _she_ had been choked the last time she had set eyes on _him_ , she wouldn't want to see him again, either. At least, she was pretty sure she wouldn't…

Maybe she _should_ just step out…

But Senator Bonteri had already noticed her. His mouth had dropped partway open, like Nadila's after Ahsoka had told her of her past as Anakin's Jedi Padawan.

And then he started walking towards her.

Ahsoka's heart pounded against her ribcage, hard enough to leave her almost lightheaded. She couldn't tell why she was so nervous. This was so stupid. _She_ was being so stupid!

"Your Highness," she heard him say. Now he was in front of her. He even gave her a slight bow, which, oddly enough, made her cheeks and lekku flush—out of shame, she was pretty sure, though she couldn't tell _why_ she was ashamed. "I…didn't expect to see you here."

She was almost pained by the formal, detached way in which he spoke to her. She had kind of liked it before, when he had talked to her as an old friend, someone he trusted to create a _plan_. Ahsoka realized now that he had thought _she_ , Ahsoka Tano, a former Jedi, would have already known how to overthrow the emperor. And he had wanted to help her!

How disappointed he must have been to learn that she wasn't who he'd thought she was at all.

For a moment, Ahsoka found herself grasping for suddenly elusive words. Then, finally, she stammered, "Senator, I…I think I want you to call me Ahsoka."

The senator raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry?"

"No, _I'm_ sorry," she corrected, somehow keeping herself rooted in place despite the urge to run. "I'm sorry, because you called me Ahsoka at the ball and I got upset, but…I want you to call me Ahsoka again. Padmé told me about Raxus and Carlac, so I know who you are now—"

Something changed in Senator Bonteri's eyes. "You…you do?"

"Yes. That's why I'm here. Padmé and I…we're trying to rebel against Anakin, but he's just so…just so powerful…" She was stammering again. She hated herself for it. "We…we need help."

The senator stared at her for a moment, almost sadly. Then, at last, he gave a sigh and rubbed at his temples. "Okay…Ahsoka, maybe we should talk about this in private."

She nodded a little bit too enthusiastically. Yes, she wanted to talk to him about this. She wanted him to understand that she wasn't the same girl he had encountered at the ball, the one he had been so horrified to find in the place of the Ahsoka he had once known.

She still wasn't quite _that_ Ahsoka, but she was a little closer than she had been before.

She and Nadila followed Senator Bonteri into an empty training room, where he collapsed into a chair that had been pushed against the back wall. Ahsoka sank into the seat beside his, and he shot her a glance. "Tell me about Sena— _Empress_ Amidala's rebellion."

"It's not much of a rebellion yet," Ahsoka admitted, fiddling absentmindedly with her fingers. "She contacted Bail Organa of Alderaan. He's going to come to my…my wedding shower…"

She sped past the word _wedding_. She didn't know why, but she did. And her voice _still_ broke. Senator Bonteri cast her a strange look, so she hurriedly continued. "Padmé said that he might want to join our rebellion, so she's hopeful that she can convince him to help us. And _I've_ been meeting with Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi—well, once. Anakin took him as a prisoner, so I snuck into his cell as a handmaiden to learn how to 'remaster the Force'. Except…"

She tapered off. Her cheeks and lekku were hot again. "Except?" the senator prompted her.

Ahsoka looked up at him, met his eyes, and immediately diverted her gaze. "Except that I can't _use_ the Force anymore," she whispered, almost ashamedly. "Anakin gives me this shot every twelve hours. Personally. I can't get out of it without him noticing, and it puts my midi-chlorians to sleep. In other words, while it's in my system, I can't connect to the Force."

Senator Bonteri put a hand on her shoulder. She tensed, and he instantly withdrew it. "Oh, I—I'm sorry." Now it was his turn to stammer. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

She gave her head an impatient shake to silence him.

A long moment passed before he added, "So…do you have a plan, then?"

 _A plan._ He still trusted her to come up with a plan. Somehow, that knowledge softened the knot in her chest. "I thought for awhile that I might fake my own kidnapping—disappear for a few days so that he couldn't give me the shot. But I'd have to sneak into the palace dungeon every night to see Master Kenobi, and in the meantime, Anakin would have the entire palace staff on the lookout for me. It would be almost impossible to keep that up for a few days without getting caught—not to mention the fact that he'd be even _more_ suspicious of me when I eventually did return. Besides, once he started to administer the medication again, I wouldn't be able to use the Force anymore, so what would even be the _point_ of training?

"Then I thought maybe I could trick him into having someone else administer the shot. Even—" She stopped. She had almost said _my fiancé_. "Uh…I just figured…it would be easier to get out of the shot if someone else were responsible for it, but Anakin's not stupid. He would never let another person take his place. And if I even tried, I would pique his suspicions, so…"

"So you need to play it safe," the senator agreed. Ahsoka examined his furrowed brow and narrowed grey eyes. For just a moment, he looked so much older than she knew he was. Padmé had said, after all, that he was around Ahsoka's age. "If you can't get out of taking it," Senator Bonteri said finally, "is there a way that you can maybe _counter_ it?"

Ahsoka frowned pensively. "'Counter it'? What do you mean?"

"Maybe there's an antidote," he suggested cautiously, but his eyes still lit up at the idea. "You could take it before he administers your shot, and then—"

"—It will neutralize the effects of whatever Anakin gives me," she finished.

"And Vader won't be suspicious of you, either," Senator Bonteri said. "He'll think that because he administered your shot, you're still cut off…" Suddenly, he reached for her hands and took them in his own. Ahsoka's heart leapt to her throat before she could help it. "I can look into this for you," he insisted. "Viceroy Organa is one of my allies in the Senate. If I _do_ find answers, I can get him to smuggle me into your…your wedding shower. So that I can…see you."

He had lost some of his enthusiasm now and released her hands. Ahsoka felt strangely disappointed. And the realization that she _was_ disappointed made her embarrassed. Her lekku and cheeks flushed. _Again._ "I…I'd appreciate that, Senator Bonteri," she said with stiff formality.

His gaze instantly focused in on her. "You don't have to call me that, Ahsoka. You can call me Lux." After a lengthy pause, he tacked on an awkward, "If you want, of course."

Ahsoka swallowed hard and nodded. Then she opened her mouth to say that she _would_ call him that, if _he_ wanted, but she _could_ call him Senator Bonteri, too, that was okay—

—And then a siren screeched to life with a tumultuous whine, jolting her from her thoughts.

"Kriff!" Nadila swore loudly, shooting to her feet and feeling for the blaster at her side. Senator Bonteri— _Lux_ —stood as well, and Ahsoka saw that he also had a gun in his possession. She hadn't noticed that before. "Imperials," Nadila growled, as if she had been itching to fight them for quite some time. "Senator Bonteri, go track down Empress Amidala and tell her to get the princess out of here. If Vader finds either of them in a rebel base, we're screwed. I'll—"

"No," Ahsoka protested. "No, wait. I can help, I promise."

Both Nadila and Lux shot her dubious looks. In response, Ahsoka glared at them. "I used to be a Jedi, remember? You can use me in battle. I…I've been practicing."

That was pathetic, of course. Her only "practice session", so to speak, had lasted for three minutes during the journey to Chandrila. But maybe if she were tossed onto a battlefield, something would awaken inside of her and she would become the warrior she had been before Anakin had captured her. She had done it once before, according to Padmé. She had been thrown into the Clone Wars as a fourteen-year-old commander. Other people's lives had depended on her, and she had adjusted. She had learned how to survive.

If she could do that once, she could do it again.

"Ahsoka," Lux insisted, "we're just worried about Vader recognizing you…"

"Don't be ridiculous," she scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. "He might not even be with his troops. Besides, you're both important political figures. He could just as easily recognize one of you, and it would be disastrous." She looked Lux directly in the eyes. "For instance, if he saw you, Lux, he would arrest you. Then you definitely wouldn't be able to research the antidote."

She could tell from the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes that she had begun to sway him to her side. But Nadila continued to protest, "Princess, I just don't think—"

 _"_ _Ahsoka,"_ she corrected her reflexively. "And if the emperor sees me, we'll just say that I'm your hostage. It might give you an advantage, even, to have something to bargain with. After all, if Vader didn't want me alive, he would have killed me himself a long time ago."

Nadila examined her for a moment. "Fine," she said. "You can tag along. But as soon as there are _any_ sightings of Vader, you and the empress have to get _out_. Immediately."

"Deal," Ahsoka replied with a grin, and then the three of them were sprinting down the hallway, the whine of the siren pulsating in the panic-stricken air, and there were screams and shots, and Ahsoka was running running running, running towards the danger, and for once in her life, for _once,_ she felt a glorious burst of exhilaration buzz through her body—and that was when she realized, truly, that this was what it must feel like to finally be free.

* * *

 **So, lots of new information in this chapter! Next time will be the Battle of Chandrila. I'm guessing that it might be about another week before I get that one up, because I've got another crazy few days ahead of me, and battle scenes are difficult to write. But we'll see how creative I can get with time! :)**

 **I know that I haven't fully explained yet where exactly we diverged from canon in _Revenge of the Sith_ to get to where we are now. Don't worry. I have that planned out, and it will be revealed to you soon. I just have to find the most natural way to convey the information to all of you, since Anakin was technically the only one who was there for all of it. And he's not just going to sit down with Ahsoka and randomly tell her the truth!**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading, everyone, and please remember to favourite/follow/review!**

 **-Isabelle**


	10. Chapter 10

**Okay. So, this chapter's late. Again. So sorry! Turns out life got a little crazier than I thought it would...oh, well. I have the next chapter up now, so I guess that's what matters!**

 **SilverDaye: Thanks for your review! I'm glad you think so.**

 **Hope reigns on: Thank you so much! I'm excited to finally be at this point in the story! :)**

 **Jayfeathers Friend: Thanks! I like the Luxsoka pairing, too. ;)**

 **Guest (Feb. 5): Thank you!**

 **Guest (Feb. 7): Thank you so much! I wanted the plot line to be unique when compared to other alternate** ** _ROTS_** **stories, so I'm glad to hear that you think it is.**

 **Thanks to anyone who has reviewed/favourited/followed. If you feel obliged to leave a review, please do so! I would love to know what you all think. ;) Also, as you all know, I do not own** ** _Star Wars_** **.**

 **-Isabelle**

* * *

Ahsoka stifled a scream.

She was alone. Well, not totally alone. Muted shrieks, her sole evidence of companionship, echoed from somewhere far off, somewhere she couldn't touch anymore. She might have just a second ago, but now her vision was tinged with black, her head pounding with throbs of pain, her arms and legs unfeeling and cold. And _she_ was cold. She was so, so cold.

The metal pinned on top of her was heavy, too heavy—heavy enough to restrict her breathing. Somewhere in her foggy mind, a vague realization surfaced: she had no idea where Lux and Nadila had gone. She tried to push herself up on her elbows, but they collapsed under her own weight and that of the metal. _Oh, Force._ Her lips moved around the words, but her throat was too raw for sound to emerge. She had just been with them a second ago….

Something trickled down her cheek, viscous against her skin. She couldn't determine whether it was a tear or blood, though she suspected it might be the latter. _What will Anakin say?_ she realized with a start. _What if he figures out that I was caught in the bombing…?_

 _Bombing._ That was it. The Imperials had arrived on the scene and bombed the Chandrilan rebel base. They had bombed it from above, and now they were sure to be inside….

They were sure to be inside. _Oh, Force, no._ She had to get out of here.

Ahsoka exerted an excruciating amount of effort in a second attempt to heave herself out of the wreckage. The metal cut beneath her ribcage, and she couldn't help the ensuing scream. It felt as if her body had grown heavier in only the past minute, or had at least been reduced to dead weight. Everything felt heavy…her eyelids, the metal, the tension and panic in the air…

Only the sudden pressure of a hand in hers ripped her from the pain. She gasped as she was finally yanked to her feet, the repeated chorus of _"Princess!"_ echoing only distantly in her montrals. It took her a moment to look up, to recognize her saviour as Countess Emalina. "Princess," she said again, matter-of-factly shoving a blaster into Ahsoka's hands. Then she took her by the arm and hauled her as far away from the battle as possible.

It didn't matter. Ahsoka still saw. Destruction had borne down upon the base with full force, leaving in its wake smashed computers and great columns of fallen metal. The computer laboratory that had amazed her only a few minutes ago was now unrecognizable. And the _people,_ the people she had hoped would soon overthrow the Empire….

Where were they? Where _were_ they? Surely the unmoving lumps littered across the floor, pinned beneath slabs of durasteel or soaked in pools of dark red…no, they weren't, she had seen incorrectly in her panic and they _weren't_ …but what if…what _if_ …

"Where's Lux?" she demanded. She hadn't even meant to say it, but she did. _She did._

Emalina shot her a strange look. "I…I don't know," she said. "Princess, listen, we have to—"

 _"No,"_ Ahsoka insisted, and her arms prickled with horrified chills as bile rose in her throat. What had she been thinking? She wasn't prepared for this; she couldn't even remember the time when she _had_ been prepared for this. "I can't leave Padmé, or…or Lux, or Sabé…"

"We're not going to leave Empress Amidala," Emalina assured her firmly, reaching out to set a hand on Ahsoka's shoulder. "We're going to find her, and then we'll—"

Ahsoka didn't stay to hear her finish. She ran, her breath coming only in frantic gasps. She couldn't have explained why, but terror had coiled deep within her stomach, and she had to find Padmé and Lux and Sabé for herself, she had to know they were okay….

More blaster fire roared to life behind her, and Ahsoka turned just in time to witness a body crumpling to the ground. Strands of brown hair tumbled limply over one of his eyes, and Ahsoka's gaze followed the movement to find a shockingly young face staring up into oblivion. Her shoulders heaved with a single, silent sob. She wished she could convince herself that it had just been a stun bolt, but somehow she knew better. She _knew_.

Where in the worlds was Padmé? She just had to get to Padmé—

But before she could, a blaster bolt whizzed past her shoulder, and her eyes widened as she realized that it had been aimed at her. Two Imperial stormtroopers, dressed entirely in white armour, had already begun to advance in her direction. Ahsoka dove for a heap of metal and threw herself behind it for shelter, peeking out only to return fire. After a few tries, one of her blaster bolts pierced the chest of the man on the right, knocking him to the floor as easily as a discarded doll. But her jubilation quickly subsided, replaced by crushing despair, as she processed what that meant. She had killed someone. She had just _taken somebody's life_. And yes, he served Vader, but…what if he was like her? What if he was forced to?

 _You've done it before,_ she told herself. _You've done it before. You just don't remember…_

So she steeled herself and peeked back around the hunk of metal, and—

—A hand clenched around her throat, tightening its grip exponentially, and—and—she choked on failed attempts at breath, reaching up desperately to pry his fingers off of her neck. It was then that she noticed her blaster had vanished. She must have dropped it, for Force's sake! Her grip had loosened on the weapon as he had grabbed her, and now—

She kicked him fiercely in the stomach, hoping her practice on the yacht might help, but it didn't do her much good while he was wearing armour. Instead, he slammed her against the hunk of metal that had once protected her. Maybe she should have panicked, but instead, she couldn't help but dwell on the irony. _Once her shelter; now the place where she would die._

"A little traitor to His Majesty, are we?" he announced, and even with the effects of the modulator his voice sounded smug. Ahsoka's heart jumped at the implication that he might have recognized her, until he nodded down at her dress and added, "Somehow I doubt the emperor will want you anywhere near his sister ever again, let alone as her servant."

She just barely fought off the instinctive gasp of relief. He had noticed the handmaiden's uniform, but he didn't know that she was the princess. Maybe she was difficult to recognize without her ballgown and makeup and jewellery. The stormtrooper continued on gleefully for at least a minute more, clearly basking in the opportunity to rattle off as many cruel insults as he could. Then, when he had finally decided he was finished tormenting her and ready to dispose of her corpse, he shoved the barrel of his blaster against the side of her head.

Ahsoka closed her eyes, but she never heard the gun go off. Instead, an aggressive cry reverberated through the air, and the pressure was ripped from her throat. Ahsoka blinked open her eyes to see a petite, brunette woman holding the Imperial soldier in a chokehold. He tried to resist, but she threw him to the ground and stepped on his chest to keep him down, instantaneously drawing a blaster from her belt and pulling the trigger.

Ahsoka's jaw dropped as Padmé apathetically shoved the gun back into its holster before extending her hand. For a moment, it was as if the woman before her were some stranger in Padmé's body—not really Padmé at all. But then the empress demanded, her voice tinged with panic, to know if she was all right, and the illusion faded almost instantly.

"I'm all right," Ahsoka stammered. "But—"

"Good," Padmé cut her off, snatching her hand. She was trying to drag her somewhere, yanking her arm so hard in the process that an acute ache lanced through the muscle. "We have to get out of here _now,_ Ahsoka! Sabé told me that she saw Anakin here, and if he sees _us_ —"

Another _boom-crash_ ripped through the air, followed by a wave of screams. Ahsoka was thrown to the durasteel floor and nearly shrieked as jarring pain shot through her ankle. She thought Padmé might have thrown herself on top of her, as a sort of shield from the explosion. But before she could confirm this suspicion, she was back on her feet and Padmé was pulling her somewhere and her ankle was screaming in pain, and the fact that she had ever thought this would be glamourous or heroic was now enough to make her want to be sick.

They were almost at the exit now—thank the Force, they were almost at the exit! The wall had been blown open and now bore an eerie resemblance to a hungry mouth, jaw dropped to reveal the staircase that Ahsoka and Sabé had followed down to the base. So far, at least, it appeared mostly intact. If Ahsoka and Padmé hurried, they could probably—

But Ahsoka froze as an image caught in her peripheral vision. She was suddenly conscious of everything—the quaking of her muscles, the thrumming of her temples, the agony that was her broken or sprained ankle—and even still, she lunged at Padmé and snatched the blaster from her holster, and a scream ripped from her throat as she aimed and pulled the trigger…

…And then he was dead. The Imperial soldier who had tried to murder Lux Bonteri was _dead_.

And _he_ …he stared at her from across the room. A small flame of recognition—of gratitude, maybe—flickered in his eyes. His mouth was slightly ajar, as it had been when he'd noticed her in the training room and even for the first time at the ball. Vaguely, Ahsoka noticed Sabé, Nadila, and Emalina rushing up to her and Padmé. She was hardly even focused enough to be grateful that they were all alive. But then Padmé gave her arm a firm tug and she remembered that they had to go. It still pained her to turn away from Lux and tear instead toward the exit.

* * *

"For Force's sake, Ahsoka! What were you thinking?"

Ahsoka looked down at Padmé, who was in the process of applying ice to the princess's sprained ankle. The empress refused to return her gaze. Her brown eyes flashed as she added, "You could have gotten yourself killed! And _then_ what would I have told Anakin?"

Ahsoka bit her lip. Padmé was right. She hadn't even thought of that. "I just…I wanted to help," she said quietly. "I thought I _could_ help, like when I was a Jedi…"

Before she could continue, she felt Padmé's gentle hand on her shoulder. "Ahsoka, I know you want to go back to the way things were before. I do, too. And we'll get there. But we're not there yet, and this was a life or death situation. Do you understand me?"

Ahsoka nodded. And she did. All too well. "But I've been meeting with Obi-Wan Kenobi," she ventured as soon as she deemed it safe. "Well…only once. But still."

Lahnya clipped over, carrying a bandage that she had acquired from beneath the princess's sink, and handed it to Padmé. The empress narrowed her eyes in concentration and busied herself with wrapping it snugly around Ahsoka's ankle. "What did he say?"

"I need to find a way to avoid the shot that Anakin gives me," Ahsoka said. "The one that puts my midi-chlorians to sleep. He can't teach me anything until I have access to the Force."

"And? Do you have a plan for how to do that?"

"Well, Lux gave me a few ideas." When Padmé looked up at her, one eyebrow raised, Ahsoka fought the rising heat in her cheeks and clarified, "Lux _Bonteri."_

"Yes, Ahsoka. I know who you're talking about." Padmé continued to wrap the girl's ankle, pursing together her quivering lips. "What did he advise you to do?"

Ahsoka leaned closer to Padmé and divulged Lux's idea, including his plan to sneak into her wedding shower along with Bail Organa. "Then, once I have the serum, I can meet with Master Kenobi again…" Padmé bit her lip and Ahsoka trailed off, remembering something else. "Padmé? That senator you were talking to when Sabé and I arrived…Senator…"

"Mon Mothma?"

"Right. Mothma. Did she…did she say her rebels would help us?"

The air seemed to swell with sudden tension, and when Padmé's head finally did snap up, animosity flamed in her eyes. "Her rebels are all _dead,_ Ahsoka!"

The princess flinched away from her, slowly regaining her composure as Padmé set a cautious hand on her knee. "I'm sorry," she whispered. They both knew why. Ahsoka shuddered, as she always did when she remembered the treasury. "I'm sorry, Ahsoka, I didn't mean to—"

"No." Ahsoka let that word hang in the air until she met Padmé's eyes. They were filled with such remorse at having caused her fright that she felt almost guilty for having flinched away. Of course she knew Padmé would never hurt her, but after that morning in the treasury, it had become an instinctive response. "You didn't, Padmé. You _didn't_. I trust you." She took one of Padmé's hands and held it tightly, hoping it might help the message to sink in. "Besides, there are…there _are_ still some people left. People who are ready to fight until their last breath. Nadila and Emalina and Lux…and Sabé and Lahnya…and you and me."

The two women held each other's gazes for a moment. Then Padmé nodded slowly. "Yes," she agreed. "Yes, I suppose you're right. There are some who survived. If we're lucky, Senator Mothma was one of them. And there's still hope that Viceroy Organa will help us."

She finished with Ahsoka's ankle and got up to leave. The ventilation shaft still hung open, the only remaining evidence that Padmé, Ahsoka, and the others had used it to return to the Chandrilan Palace unnoticed. Padmé hunched her shoulders and began to squirm inside, anxious—though not necessarily _eager_ —to return to her suite. Though she and Anakin had been assigned separate bedchambers while on Chandrila, his suspicious nature would probably have him checking in on both her and Ahsoka as soon as he returned from battle.

Before she could fully heft herself inside, however, Ahsoka's voice reached her ears with a plea of, "Padmé, wait." With a semi-reluctant sigh, Padmé slipped out of the ventilation shaft and back into Ahsoka's refresher, nodding for the young girl to continue. For a moment, though, Ahsoka just fiddled with the tattered hem of her dress. Then, finally, she said, "It occurred to me when I saw the rebel base that you never told me how the Empire came to power. How Anakin became Vader. You just told me stories of before, and about how _I_ became the princess. But"—something new seemed to occur to her, for her eyes widened—"what about _you?"_

Padmé just looked at her for a second, her head tilted slightly to one side. Ahsoka almost could have sworn that she had seen something deeper, flickering beneath the ostensible calm in Padmé's eyes. But then nonchalance flooded entirely over her features, and she turned her back. "Maybe I'll record you a holodisk about it. Sometime. When you're ready."

And then she crawled into the ventilation shaft, closed it, and was gone.

* * *

The next morning, five handmaidens arrived in Ahsoka's chambers to help her to dress, and a familiar twisting sensation rooted itself in her stomach. She knew when to brace herself for one of Anakin's torturously formal events based on the extravagance of the outfit she was expected to wear, and this definitely qualified as one of those times. The gown was the palest of mint greens, adorned with elaborate pearl beading, three-quarter lace sleeves, and clasps carefully positioned so that the wearer could not possibly reach them on her own. (This, as Sylviana Chère would pompously claim, was a status symbol, for it proved that the owner of the gown had either enough money or prestige to hire people to help dress her. Or something.)

As Lahnya silently coiled strands of pearls around her lekku, Ahsoka managed to coax another handmaiden—she thought her name was Sorian—into telling her what in the worlds was going on. As it turned out, there was to be yet another ball, thrown by Emperor Vader and King Caarino to celebrate the Imperial victory at the Battle of Chandrila. Ahsoka, obviously, was required to go and celebrate. So were Padmé and Nadila and Emalina. How lucky they were, to get the privilege of celebrating the deaths of their friends and allies together!

Except not together, exactly, because as soon as Ahsoka and her entourage of handmaidens arrived in the ballroom, Anakin practically threw her—so roughly that she suspected it had been on purpose—into Prince Erosik's arms. It took all of her willpower not to shriek at the pain that surged through her ankle. In fact, she bit the inside of her cheek so hard that it began to bleed. The coppery taste flooded her mouth as her betrothed suggested that they dance. _Dance. In stilettos. On her sprained ankle._ Ahsoka could have screamed in frustration.

"Yes, the princess would love that," Anakin announced pertinaciously after only a few seconds of silence. She flinched as he gave her back lek a sharp yank, as if to punish her for not having responded sooner. Her temper simmered dangerously. What made him think he had the right to speak on her behalf? "She and I practiced her dancing on the yacht to Chandrila."

"Really," said Prince Erosik. Today he wore a silk doublet and a platinum crown that gleamed with diamonds, emeralds, and other precious gemstones. He had characteristically taken the opportunity to show off his wealth, an indicator that he actually had the freedom to select his own clothes. At least one of them didn't have to wear whatever their older brother forced on them. "Would you care to show me what you and the emperor rehearsed, Soka?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm feeling a little bit tired…maybe…"

But before she could continue, pain shot up her back lek as Anakin gave it another fierce tug. She had to dig her fingernails into Erosik's shoulders to choke back the yelp that she knew Anakin wanted to hear. _No._ She would not allow him to humiliate her any more than he already had. "Maybe…maybe we could," she finished. "But just one dance for now, all right?"

Ahsoka decided, with a kind of sad pride that did nothing to bolster her dignity, that that had been well-worded. The "for now" opened the possibility of dancing again later, thus implying that she wasn't becoming suspiciously disobedient, and she would only have to suffer through one song before getting to sit down. Yet she already yearned for more than these small acts of defiance; one song may have been better than twenty, but dancing at all showed deference to Anakin's wishes. Even in terms of generating pain—both physical and emotional, given her injured ankle and repulsive partner—a single dance would do the trick.

Needless to say, she hadn't told the emperor, nor the prince, about her sprained ankle, and she had no plans to ever do so. She had attempted to fabricate an excuse while the handmaidens had prepared her for the ball, but since the injury had occurred over the same time span as the Battle of Chandrila, she'd decided in the end that it was just too suspicious.

No. She'd have to hide it. They couldn't find out _at all_.

As Erosik swept her toward the dance floor, however, Padmé Amidala appeared in the ballroom, decked in all of her glamourous splendour. As usual, everyone's breaths slowly synchronized, reflecting an unanimous wonder; even Erosik paused for an instant to examine his empress, though he refused to remove his hands from Ahsoka's waist. Padmé's champagne skirts billowed gracefully as she moved, and even though the golden stitching glimmered invariably, the gown itself took on a darker, rose-brown hue when immersed in shadow.

The band waited until the initial spell of her presence had shattered to begin their first song, visibly releasing any remaining guests from her enchantment. Erosik scowled under his breath as he pressed Ahsoka up against him, whirling her across the floor. She knew he had no love for Padmé; he constantly complained, with that petulant sense of entitlement she had come to despise, that Ahsoka was _his_ fiancée and if he wanted to kiss her, the empress should mind her own business. (Of course, he also liked to brush aside the fact that Ahsoka was a person, not his possession, and should have an equal say in what they did and did not do.)

But Ahsoka had also heard whispers of an unspoken feud that had been nonetheless raging between Naboo and Crulius since the reign of Queen Amidala.

She had no idea what Padmé had done to spark such a conflict—or, perhaps more accurately, why the blame had been pinned almost solely on her—but she was forced to interrupt that train of thought as she noticed Anakin watching her through narrowed eyes. In fact, a few subsequent glances in his direction indicated that the emperor's gaze hardly ever strayed from her, almost as though he were watching for something specific….

Panic flamed to life inside of her. What if he already suspected that she had sprained her ankle, and by shoving her into Erosik's arms and forcing her to dance with him, he hoped that she would accidentally provide him with solid proof of her injury? But…Anakin had always watched her like that, hadn't he? His behaviour certainly wasn't unusual. Not for him, at least.

At the end of the first song, she let go of Prince Erosik and sauntered towards a chair in the corner of the room, seating herself and closing her eyes. A few moments later, she heard him plop down in the chair next to hers. "What's the matter, Princess?" he said. "Come on, I know you." (He didn't, actually.) "You can't just be tired." (She could be—and was—tired. She had gotten about two hours of sleep the previous night, and finding herself in the midst of the Battle of Chandrila had sort of drained her energy.) "Come _on_. Are you mad at me?"

They fell into silence for a moment as he waited for her to respond. Then Prince Erosik continued, his voice tinged with even more impatience than usual. " _Soka._ Are you—"

"I'm just sick of it," she muttered, and as she said it the full truth of the statement dawned on her. "I'm sick of all the balls and dancing and banquets—and what else is there, really? Nothing. There's _nothing_. I just want…I want something. Something important."

She wanted more than that, though; more than she could ever dare to say aloud. She wanted to do something important—no, _be_ some _one_ important, like Ahsoka Tano had been during the Clone Wars. If Lux could find her that serum, and she could engineer a way to meet routinely with Master Kenobi, then maybe, someday, she would be. But if she couldn't…well, she didn't want to even think about the consequences it would have on the galaxy.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, everyone. Please remember to favourite/follow/review. Next chapter will be Ahsoka and Padmé's first meeting with Bail Organa. (Yay!) There is still hope for the rebellion yet...**

 **It will probably be a little while until the next chapter (maybe another week and a half?) but I'm hoping that updates will become more regular after that.**

 **Love, Isabelle :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey, everyone! I'm going to jump right in and answer some reviews, and then we'll get to the chapter. A note to everyone: Thank you for all of your support, whether it be favouriting/follow this story, leaving a review, or just reading. I really appreciate it! :)**

 **Jayfeathers Friend: Thank you for reviewing! I do feel Ahsoka's dislike of Erosik is justified. He does and says some questionable things in previous chapters, and we learn from Nadila in Ch. 9 that he cares more about Ahsoka's so-called "status" than he does about her. Also, Anakin-whom Ahsoka knows does not have her best interests at heart-is the one forcing her to marry him, so this is something else that drives them apart. As for Ahsoka's memories...well, let's just say that I don't want to give away any spoilers yet. :)**

 **Guest (Feb. 13): Thank you so much!**

 **NinjaGirl1117: Thank you thank you thank you! I'm so glad that you find it interesting. :)**

 **Guest (Feb. 20): Thanks for your review! You should get strange vibes from Erosik at this point...we'll see more from him in this chapter. Also, I'm glad you're excited for Ahsoka's role in the rebellion. That plot line will pick up a bit in this chapter, too. ;)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.**

* * *

Padmé braced herself as she pushed aside a curtain of ballgowns, only to find her own reflection staring back at her from behind a full-length mirror. She was still dressed in the crimson and gold travelling gown she had worn on the yacht from Chandrila to Coruscant, and though she ached from the weight of the ruby headdress and velvet skirts, her outfit had nothing to do with the concern etched across her face. Padmé reached a trembling hand toward the top of the mirror's frame. It was adorned with gold filigree and small crystals, innocuous enough if one did not know of the tiny camera camouflaged amongst the gemstones.

Padmé, of course, did know, as she had been the one to install it shortly after the rise of the Empire. She had quickly singled out refreshers and closets as the two places where Anakin would not dare place security holocameras, and though setting up a camera of her own would have been risky anywhere, she had deemed her wardrobe the safest option. Anakin hardly ever put forth the effort to visit his wife in the empress's apartments; rather, he demanded that _she_ come to _him_. Though such entitlement was enough to make Padmé burn with rage, it at least gave her a semblance of privacy so long as she remained in her chambers, and that was precisely what she needed if she were to record accounts of Ahsoka's true past.

She had been creating these holovids for Ahsoka for weeks now, but as her hand hovered noncommittally near the hidden holocamera, she realized that she wasn't entirely sure she could go through with it this time. On the yacht back to Coruscant, she had reminded herself of this impending window of opportunity, when Anakin would rush off to fill in his advisors on his visit to Chandrila and Padmé would be left blissfully alone. And yet…

No. She _couldn't_. She turned her back to the mirror and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. That moment…when she had reacted out of fear…when she had _agreed_ …

But Ahsoka had a right to know. More than that, she _had_ to know. If Anakin insisted on burying the truth of the Empire's formation beneath a curtain of lies, then it was Padmé's responsibility to unveil what had actually happened. She and her most trusted handmaidens had sworn to do anything to bring down the Empire, and Padmé was not one to go back on her word.

And so, with shaking hands and a heart heavy with longstanding regrets, she turned herself around, squared her shoulders, and switched on the holocamera.

* * *

 ** _Eight months ago_**

Senator Padmé Amidala stood on the balcony of her Coruscanti apartment, a gentle night breeze rustling her hair. She wanted to scoff at the irony of it, at the simple, invisible beauties that still existed, even in the midst of the atrocity that stretched before her eyes.

A sense of desperation tightened inside of her. She should turn away. She should go back inside. Why was she subjecting herself to this? She was a senator, she had access to information, and she should be figuring out exactly what was going on. Except that all she could do was stare and worry and try not to think about what was right in front of her.

 _The Jedi Temple. It was—_

Even in her own mind, she couldn't bear to finish that sentence.

Her heart pitched to her stomach as a ship appeared on the horizon, but she placed a hand to her chest to calm herself. This was not just any ship. It was a Jedi starfighter…

 _Anakin's_ Jedi starfighter.

Padmé catapulted herself toward her husband as soon as he climbed out of the ship, breathless with relief at seeing him unharmed and, quite frankly, just _alive_. As a non-Force-sensitive, she couldn't establish a bond with Anakin like the one she knew he and Obi-Wan shared. She had no way of sensing whether or not he was safe unless he was in her physical presence. That was too rare an occurrence nowadays, especially given that she was pregnant.

"Are you okay, Padmé?" he whispered into her hair. How strange that he would ask after _her_ wellbeing when _he_ was the Jedi. He was the one who had just narrowly escaped persecution and then navigated his way back to her, almost as if by a miracle.

"Are _you,_ Ani?" she pressed, fisting her hands in his robes. He didn't get a chance to reply before she continued, her voice breaking beneath the emotional strain of her next demands. "Force, I was so worried about you! What in the worlds is happening, Anakin? The Jedi Temple…have you seen it…were you there when…is anyone we know—"

"Shh…," he soothed as he drew away, brushing loose curls out of her eyes. "Everything is going to be okay. You have nothing to worry about, Padmé. _We_ have nothing to worry about. For the rest of our days, we shall have everything we need. Everything we desire. For us, for our child…" He gave a lopsided grin. "We don't even have to hide it anymore."

 _"_ _Wh-what?"_ she stammered. "Anakin, surely you've seen the Temple! And you aren't even—"

"The Jedi are traitors," he said darkly, and Padmé's heart skipped a beat. For the thousandth time in the last few hours, an infuriatingly familiar word pounded on repeat in her head: _What?_ "A group of Council members attempted to arrest and then murder Chancellor Palpatine without allowing him to stand trial. They didn't even bother with the _formalities_ this time."

Anakin turned his back, clenching his fists so that the muscles in his arms tightened, and after a moment of hesitation, Padmé reached to set the expected hand on his shoulder. She knew the incident he was referencing, and that meant his thoughts had already swerved down a dangerous road: _Ahsoka._ "And then he—Palpatine— _he_ betrayed me, too! After I saved him from the Jedi, he asked me…no, he _demanded_ that I do something I could not do."

"What was that, Ani?" she prompted tentatively, hoping to shatter the stifling silence.

Anakin whirled to face her with such force that Padmé nearly leapt backwards in shock—or maybe, if she were to be completely honest with herself, _fright_. An unfamiliar enmity swirled in the blue depths of his eyes, and she caught herself internally debating whether this could possibly be the same man she had learned to love. "He told me the Jedi were traitors. And he was right, of course. They are. They've hurt me so many times, Padmé! When they falsely led me to believe that Obi-Wan was dead, when they expelled Ahsoka…"

He took a shuddering gasp and broke his gaze from Padmé's, shoving his flesh hand through a tangle of golden brown curls. Freed at last from her husband's fiery stare, the senator from Naboo took the opportunity to recompose. "This isn't about you, Anakin," she managed in scarely more than a whisper, praying her voice emerged calmer than she felt.

"Of _course_ it's about me," he spat, restoring eye contact that almost made her flinch. "Palpatine wanted to control me, too! _He_ was the Sith Lord, Padmé. Sheev kriffing _Palpatine_ was the kriffing Sith Lord! He wanted me to fall to my knees and swear loyalty to him…and then to go off and blindly kill my loved ones. Obi-Wan! He ordered me to kill Obi-Wan!"

Any words Padmé might have managed stuck suddenly in her throat; she couldn't even bring herself to scold Anakin for his use of profanity. She had known Palpatine since her first term as Queen of Naboo, and he had eventually evolved into a sort of mentor. To be fair, she, Bail, and Mon had taken note of his growing corruption—they had all been part of the Delegation of Two Thousand, after all—but she would have never suspected a situation this drastic.

Padmé smoothed the pale blue skirts of her gown to busy her trembling hands. By the time she looked back up at Anakin, his shoulders were visibly heaving with each aggressive breath. "You said…," she ventured, swallowing as her parched throat nearly trapped the words. "You said that Palpatine…that he _was_ the Sith Lord? As in…as in past tense?"

"That's right," Anakin agreed with startlingly little hesitation. "I killed him, Padmé. With my strength and my new position, I should have everything I need to teach myself the skills to save you, should it ever come to that." Padmé's lips tightened into a frown. She had never taken much stock in Anakin's claims that she might die in childbirth, but from her husband's perspective, even the thought was apparently enough to fuel a looming obsession. "Palpatine feared my power, just as the Jedi before him. Well. I will never again be controlled by anyone. Emperor Sheev Palpatine has fallen, and I have taken his throne."

At those words, Padmé could have sworn that her heart nearly pattered to a stop.

 _"'_ _Throne'?"_ She expected the scrape of derisive laughter against her throat, but the horror was too fresh, and she scrambled for a sufficient response. "What do you mean, 'throne'?"

Anakin tilted his chin pensively, as if to focus on something in the distance. "You realize that the democracy we serve, Padmé, is no longer a democracy. You told me so yourself, not so long ago, when you claimed that we might be on the wrong side of the war. But remember what we talked about on Naboo, before the outbreak of the war? We need a political system that works, and if _someone_ has to force people to get along once in awhile, then so be it…"

Padmé's breath ripped from her lungs on a gasp, her instincts screaming for her to remove herself from the scene. She placed a protective hand over her stomach and backed away slowly, watching her husband's image blur as tears burned her eyes. "No. Tell me you're not— _no_." She gave her head a rapid shake of denial. "You _said_ it wouldn't be you!"

"Padmé—" Anakin reached for his wife as her anguished scream dissipated on the wind, but she yanked away with all of the vehemence she could muster. "Just think of it, my love. All of the power you need, right at your fingertips, to push through the bills you've been trying for years to get passed…no one would ever dare scoff at your ideas again. If I were the one to control the Senate, we could put an end to the war in an instant…and that's just the beginning!"

His eagerness was building like that of some overly hyper schoolboy. It sickened her. "I don't need my _husband_ to exert influence over the Senate in order to gain respect from my peers," she spat. "This might surprise you, Anakin, but I have over a decade of experience in politics and I am perfectly capable of doing my job without your so-called 'help'. What was even your plan, anyway? Become just like Palpatine? A corrupt dictator? An _emperor_ of some kind?"

"I would not be a 'corrupt dictator'," Anakin declared, turning up his nose as if the very idea were ridiculous. He took a step toward her. Then another. For some reason, Padmé's legs locked in place, and she found herself momentarily paralyzed with fear. "The galaxy is unstable, Padmé. You of all people should know this. It needs a forceful leader—an emperor, perhaps—to take charge and lead it out of this time of crisis. To restore the peace and prosperity we've lost."

"But why _you?"_ she said. "You don't know the first thing about politics—"

"—And yet I am going to be the hero who saves the galaxy from the Clone Wars," he said languidly. "I will wipe out both sides who have put the people through so much suffering: the Separatists on Mustafar, and the Jedi Order on Coruscant. The galaxy will be able to start anew. I will create a time of great peace and prosperity that will benefit everyone—"

"You tell yourself this," Padmé growled, "and yet power will corrupt you. How could you even entertain the thought of genocide, much less commit such a crime yourself?" She spared a glance at the Jedi Temple. Smoke billowed from the five majestic towers that speared the Coruscanti sky, choking the formerly clear evening with plumes of grey. "I take it you have already murdered innocents who follow the very teachings you used to practice. And what of Obi-Wan? Anakin, please! What you are doing is _despicable._ Why can't you—"

"I will spare Obi-Wan," Anakin cut her off, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced across the balcony. His posture remained so unforgivably rigid, he could just as easily have had a steel rod in his back. "He used to be my master. He is loyal. He will join me."

"And if he does not?" she said. "If he too recognizes that what you are doing is wrong—"

"He _will_. Trust me. And if he does not, I am sure that my apprentice will."

Padmé froze, every muscle in her arms and legs taut. For a moment, she had seen him. _Anakin._ For a moment, this monster before her had been the same broken man who had come to her after Ahsoka's departure from the Order. Even following her decision to leave, he had never really stopped referring to her as his apprentice. Padmé still caught him on his own sometimes, slouched across one of the living room sofas with his head in his hands, muttering about or even _to_ Shmi or Ahsoka. How easy he found it to retreat into denial…

"What apprentice?" she said flatly. "You do not have an apprentice, Anakin."

He whipped around to face her, and his eyes seared into hers. For a second, she could have sworn she even saw a flash of yellow reflected in his irises…but no, that was impossible. "My apprentice is on Mandalore right now." He was over-articulating his syllables, and advancing towards her, and she so didn't like the intensity in his eyes, but she stayed put. "I just saw her, before the Battle of Coruscant. And I will go to Mandalore to find her, and she will be grateful, and when I inform her of the new state of the galaxy, she will agree to follow me."

"She would _never,"_ Padmé insisted, even as she struggled to quell the trembling of her voice. "She would never agree to follow you, not once she realizes what you've become."

"Oh, but she will." A crazed grin erupted across her husband's face. "She will, and so will Obi-Wan, and so will you. And if you do not"—a purposeful hesitation settled in the air, and he finally reached her, cupping her cheek in his palm—"then I have means of persuasion."

"'Persuasion'," she repeated.

"Before his death, when he thought I would serve him, Palpatine gave me control over the entire clone army. And as of right now, they are currently stationed on almost every planet in the Mid-Rim…including your homeworld, Naboo." His hand slipped down to her chin, and he gripped it tightly. "One transmission from me and all of your family and friends could be dead."

Padmé jolted backward out of his grasp and found, as she tried for a deep breath, that any available air had been ripped from her lungs. Anakin's image shimmered before her eyes, distorted by a sheen layer of tears. When she finally did manage a tremulous gasp, the effort nearly knocked her to her knees. This had to be a bad dream or something. Yes, that was it. It was a bad dream, because there was no way Anakin would…there was _no way_.

But somehow, she found her mouth moving around treasonous words. Words that betrayed her, that betrayed everything she stood for. And yet somehow he still called it _perfect,_ and as despair twisted deep in her chest he began to walk away…only to turn around again a moment later. "You will stay here until I come back from you, or else I will have a transmission to make. But if you follow my orders, know you shall receive the favour of your emperor, _Empress_ Amidala."

* * *

She gave birth to her children not long afterwards, in the hospital room next to the comatose Ahsoka's. Anakin had dragged his former Padawan back to Coruscant yesterday, cruelly stoic as she kicked and screamed and even sobbed in resistance, and thirty-four minutes later, she had been hovering close to death. He hadn't been able to find Obi-Wan on Utapau, so he had gone to Mandalore instead. But Padmé had been right. Ahsoka _hadn't_ joined him.

He wasn't there for the birth of his children. He didn't even know yet that he had both a son _and_ a daughter. He was on Mustafar, ridding the galaxy of the Separatists. Later, he would bring back a captive Obi-Wan Kenobi, who had gone to the planet to stop him.

But Padmé didn't know this at the time. All she knew were the piercing fear and regret that came with her transformation into Anakin's empress. The horror that filled her chest at the thought of tolerating this new galaxy, and even bringing new life into it. When Luke, her son, was placed into her arms, she couldn't feel any happiness. All she felt was empty. And in vain, she began to sob. The nurses were kind enough to pretend that it was out of joy.

* * *

 ** _Present day_**

The ballroom was rampant with prestige and wealth, and the enormity of it almost enraged Padmé. She hovered in the corner as discreetly as a galactic empress could, swirling the wine in her glass in the most nonchalant manner possible. She wasn't actually planning on drinking it, of course. Today, more than ever before, she needed a clear head.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Prince Erosik and Ahsoka. Despite her graceful posture and her silk and chiffon gown, complete with eye-catching pearl beading along the bodice and hem that would have been enough to render many a fashionista jealous, the misery etched across Ahsoka's face made Padmé's heart ache. The prince had slung an arm around his fiancée's waist and was in the process of over-enthusiastically thanking anyone who had brought a gift to their wedding shower—as if it hadn't been obligatory. Maybe he meant it to come across as insincere, Padmé figured. He wanted to remind his guests of the power he would gain—or at least _thought_ he would gain—after his marriage to Ahsoka.

Once in awhile, Padmé would meet the former Jedi's hopeful eyes. _No,_ she would say mentally, giving her head a miniscule but sharp jerk to the left. No one other than Ahsoka, she knew, would understand that it was a means of communication. _No. Not yet._

She couldn't shake the thought that Ahsoka knew. She knew what a coward Padmé had been when Anakin had asked her— _forcefully_ asked her, to be fair—to join him. Well…it was possible Ahsoka had not yet viewed the message, but given that she had always been good about destroying the holodisks as soon as possible, Padmé suspected the odds of her having waited to watch it were slim. Strange, then, that she did not appear to bear any ill will toward Padmé for her past failures. Maybe Ahsoka figured that her friend was doing something about it now, and that was what mattered. Padmé wished she could see it the same way.

But now was not the time for self-pity or regrets. She had to locate Bail Organa.

She scanned the ballroom again, to no avail. Where _was_ he? Another thought struck her, and she startled. What if someone had discovered his plans to conspire against the emperor—

 _No._ She had to take a deep breath to calm herself down. Bail hadn't even formally pledged himself to her cause yet, and besides, if anyone _had_ reported him for potentially treasonous activity, Padmé would have been arrested, too. She _would_ have been…

"Senator Amidala."

She nearly jumped at the sound of her name and made to turn around…before remembering that that _wasn't_ her name anymore. _Senator Amidala._ It had been eight long months since anyone had called her Senator Amidala. The newest version of Padmé was an empress, and Anakin had not given that Padmé the power he had originally promised her.

At last she steeled herself with another deep breath, pushing those thoughts from her mind. Padmé turned toward the man who had said her former name, and skirts of satin and taffeta followed the movement in a plum purple blur. He wasn't Bail Organa. In fact, he was someone she couldn't even recognize, though he possessed a prestigious air that seemed to be justified by his appearance. A flowing cloak of velvet bloomed out behind him, and a neatly trimmed, grey beard covered his chin. A young servant boy, probably no older than Ahsoka, trailed behind him with his head bowed, wearing a hood that made it difficult for her to see his face.

Padmé grew suddenly sick at this man's obvious display of power. And over a child, too. It was exactly the kind of thing this new Anakin would have— _had_ —done. "Yes?" she said curtly.

"You contacted me," he murmured. "You wanted to speak of…personal matters?"

Padmé blinked, tightening her jaw so that it didn't drop to betray her shock. Yes, that was what she had told Bail. Not this…this _stranger_. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but then a pixelated ripple swept his face, and for a moment, she could make out a different set of eyes.

 _His_ eyes.

She had seen this technology before, she realized. At the Festival of Light on Naboo—oh, Force, that felt like it had been so _long_ ago—the bounty hunters had used it in their plot to capture the chancellor. Bail seemed to know what she was thinking, for he smiled knowingly. "I think you might also recognize my friend, Your Majesty, if you look a bit closer."

Padmé obliged. Sure enough, she found Lux Bonteri hidden beneath the hood of the servant's robe. Now she remembered Ahsoka telling her, back at the royal palace on Chandrila, that he had planned on coming to the wedding shower along with Senator Organa.

She nodded at Lux in acknowledgement, then directed her gaze over her shoulder at Ahsoka and Erosik. The former locked eyes with her immediately, and Padmé nodded. Ahsoka returned her attention to the prince, her lips moving with some excuse as she tried to discreetly tug out of his grasp, but Erosik didn't address her in return. He didn't even _look_ at her. He simply pulled her closer, seamlessly continuing his conversation with the man before him. In response, Ahsoka forcefully removed his arm from around her waist and stalked off. Padmé relished a sweep of unexpected relief, as well as something she hadn't felt in a long time: pride.

Ahsoka made her rounds for the next few minutes, conversing with various people who were of course eager to see her, before casually crossing over to Padmé, Bail, and Lux. The empress couldn't help but notice that she still walked with a bit of a limp, but the elegant sweep of those shimmery, pale blue skirts masked it somewhat, and Padmé doubted that anyone who wasn't already aware of the injury would find anything unusual about her gait.

"Hello, Princess," Bail greeted politely as Ahsoka came to a stop in front of the trio. Her eyes flicked rapidly between the three of them, lingered a few moments longer on Lux, and then snapped back to Bail. "I expect you'll be wanting your gift, won't you?"

Ahsoka's eyes darted back to Lux. _Did you…,_ she mouthed, but Bail cut her off. "If you follow my aide," he said nonchalantly, "he'll present you with Alderaan's offering."

Ahsoka's gaze drifted to something behind Padmé's ear. The empress turned to see Prince Erosik, who was already engrossed in another conversation with a man around his age. "All right," Ahsoka murmured distantly, linking her arm through Lux's. Her long sleeves, cinched at the elbows but wide around her wrists, fluttered as she tugged him toward the doors.

A weight settled in Padmé's stomach as she watched them walk off together. She had not missed the _looks_ Lux and Ahsoka had exchanged in only the past minute—looks she knew all too well. She had risked her life, career, and reputation for what they were both clearly feeling, and in the end, those emotions had betrayed her in the worst possible way.

* * *

Ahsoka and Lux wound through several of the palace hallways side by side, distancing themselves as much as possible from the blare of classical music and ecstatic chatter. "Did it ever bother you, living here?" Lux muttered to her, once they had travelled decidedly out of earshot of any of the guests. "Where all of your people were slaughtered?"

Ahsoka's throat tightened. "Well…it does now," she said, focusing her gaze on the ground. "But it's not like I can remember it. I'm more bothered by simply having to live with Anakin."

She felt Lux's hesitation without having to look at him, so she reached up to take his hands and lead him to a separate corner. Even so, she wasn't overly concerned about staying hidden. Lahnya had agreed to monitor the holocameras today so that she could replace the feeds of Ahsoka and Lux's conversation with those of an empty hallway.

"We should get back on topic," she said when he remained silent. "Did you find anything?"

Lux finally met her eyes and nodded. "Yes. I did. _It's_ found on a lot of the Inner Rim worlds—Jedha, Shili, my home planet Onderon…" He took her hand and pried apart her fingers, removing something from inside of his jacket and pressing it against her palm. "Here."

She looked at it. Her eyes immediately narrowed. "A—a necklace?"

"No," he scoffed, indicating the magnificent pearl and diamond piece that gleamed along her collarbone. "From what I can tell, you already have plenty of those. Let me show you." He fiddled with the large pendant until he managed to crack it open. Most of it appeared to be solid gold, except for a tiny point in the centre that looked like the end of a pin. As Lux pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, however, and pulled it out of the pendant, it came to more closely resemble one of Anakin's needles. "The serum is _inside_ of the charm," he explained. "You inject this into your arm right before he gives you your medication, and…"

"You're saying it will let me reconnect to the Force," Ahsoka whispered. The words bubbled in the back of her throat as the very thought sent chills fluttering down her spine.

He nodded, shutting the locket and draping the chain delicately around her neck. And before she even knew what she was doing, her arms were around his waist, and she was murmuring, "Thank you thank you thank you" faster than she could really comprehend.

He laughed. "Don't thank me, Tano. You're the one who's going the save the galaxy."

She grinned up at him, thrilled at having been called by her real surname, and at the power that now hung around her neck, and at his confidence in her. "You can say that once I—"

Suddenly, though, he shoved her away from him. Ahsoka stumbled backwards as a strange, unfamiliar kind of hurt spiked through her chest, and though she was sure it showed on her face, Lux's impassive expression did not waver as his eyes met hers. She bit her lip and turned to leave him, but before she could, a wash of panic froze her in her tracks.

Prince Erosik loomed before them with flickering eyes, his arms crossed so tightly over his chest that muscles strained against the brocade of his sleeves. He was currently staring at Lux as if the poison in his glare might be enough to render the younger boy dead. Ahsoka cleared her throat to intercept the prince's gaze, but the sight of her only seemed to fuel his anger, for his lip curled into a snarl and his left eye began to twitch. "A servant boy, Princess," he said, and despite the fire still raging in his eyes, his voice emerged almost frighteningly calm. "I leave you alone for two _minutes,_ and you're already off with some servant boy…"

He reached to grab her arm, but she tugged away. "Leave me alone. It's not what you think."

"Oh, no?"

"No." She showed him the necklace. "He was just giving me Senator Organa's gift."

"Which he naturally had to do in the middle of a deserted hallway?"

"Your Highness, please," Lux said, and as he cut a desperate glance at Ahsoka, she realized he was more afraid for her than he was for himself. "It was all just—"

"Shut up, boy," Erosik growled at him, placing a hand on Ahsoka's lower back and whisking her away. Even in the tense silence, she held her head high and refused to spare him a glance. At last they reached the ballroom threshold, and Erosik released a near grunt of frustration as he raked a wild hand through his hair. "What am I going to _do_ with you, Princess?"

"Well, the first thing you can do is _trust_ me, and respect me, and—"

He silenced her by pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Ahsoka almost instantly pulled away, and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Would I be wrong, Soka, were I to observe that your demeanour has…shall we say… _changed_ since we first met?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied coolly. At least, she hoped she did. In reality, her heart thudded so loudly that she almost feared he could hear it.

Erosik studied her for a moment. Then he stepped considerably closer and reached to grab her hand. She couldn't help but notice that his was slick with sweat. "We're going to go in there together," he said, "and we're going to _stay_ together. Is that clear, Princess?"

Rage drove her to grind her teeth together, but she hid it behind pursed lips. _"Crystal."_

As they swept into the ballroom hand-in-hand, Ahsoka let out her breath on an inaudible sigh, forced to acknowledge that Prince Erosik was onto her. He had noticed how her personality had altered to more closely match who she had once been, and he had even taken it upon himself to so helpfully _comment_ on it. If she wished to continue to slide under the emperor's radar, she realized, she would have to start her training with Obi-Wan Kenobi as soon as possible.

Otherwise, she was running out of time, and fast.

* * *

 **Every time I give a due date for a chapter, I always end up missing it, so this time, I'm just going to say that the next one should be posted soonish. ;) I can tell you, though, that it will include Padmé and Bail's discussion about the rebellion...and yes, Ahsoka's first training session with Obi-Wan!**

 **As always, please follow/favourite, or leave a review if you have time.**

 **Love, Isabelle**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey, everyone! Long time, no see. So...I guess I even failed at posting a new chapter "soonish". And when I finally did have the chapter ready to post, FFN was having technical errors, and I couldn't get on the site! Oh, well...*sigh*...now that my show's over, I should be able to post more frequently from now on.**

 **I'll let you read the chapter first, and then I'll respond to reviews and have some notes at the end. Enjoy! :)**

 **Oh, and a disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.**

* * *

"Tell me, Senator. Why are you fighting?"

Padmé hadn't even locked the doors before Bail spouted his question. She glanced over her shoulder to see Alderaan's prince consort arranged comfortably in a plush armchair, one leg crossed over the other. The empress's dressing room, designed for hair and cosmetics touch-ups in the midst of parties, may not have been a long walk from the ballroom, but time was still of the essence. Before long, Anakin would grace his guests with his presence and notice his empress's absence. And _this_ was how Bail wanted to use their precious minutes?

Padmé hesitated as she sank into the armchair across from his, weighing her words. "I…," she stammered, then tried again. "I'd think my motivations would be obvious, Viceroy."

"Please. Do explain."

She clasped her hands in her lap and looked down. She didn't necessarily _want_ to explain. The emotions that resulted from her… _relationship_ with Anakin—anger, fear, betrayal—were already omnipresent in her mind. She could think about her situation to no end, but to put it into words would be to elevate it to a new level of reality, one she still couldn't accept as truth.

And yet Bail Organa was watching her, awaiting a response, and with most of the Chandrilan rebels dead, he was her only hope for a better future. For Leia, for Luke, for Ahsoka, for Obi-Wan…even just for herself! Padmé yearned for the day when she could again consider her own needs, without that whisper of guilt that wrenched her thoughts back to the others.

"Anakin is not the same person he once was." She fixed her gaze on the toes of her wedges. "He is corrupt. Cruel. I'm sure you have deduced that if it were possible, I would have left the Imperial Palace a long time ago. But I am still here, bound to the emperor's will by broken promises and lasting threats. He ordered the murder of my seven-year-old niece, and I have no doubt he would do it again—a thousand times over—if it allowed him to keep control.

"I must protect my older sister and her remaining daughter, as well as my parents, my children, Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan. They are all I have left, Bail, and Anakin has not hesitated to threaten them." Padmé clutched at her skirts as tremors rolled down her arms. She tried to tighten her hand into a fist, but the muscles were too limp. "He wasn't even there when I gave birth. Sabé was—she had arrived at the palace by then—and an assortment of nurses whose names I did not know. Plus an obstetrician-gynecologist, to deliver the babies. But not their father.

"It took him days to acknowledge Luke and Leia's existence. Once he did, he and his officers almost never let me near them. Roughly once a week, I would receive ten _minutes_ to visit my own children—maybe fifteen, but only if I was lucky. He…" She hesitated. "He knew that they were the main reason I would never run away. Even if I could get to Naboo in time to save my sister and parents, I would be sacrificing my own children. Either he would hurt them out of spite, or he would twist them into miniature versions of himself. Power-hungry. Corrupt. And then…" Padmé swallowed as her throat closed up. "And then there was Ahsoka."

She explained to Bail, in as much specificity as two non-Force-sensitives could truly understand, how Anakin had manipulated his and Ahsoka's bond to erase her memory. She described how, surrounded by a regiment of clone troopers, she had stood numbly in the halls of the new Imperial Palace—hand on her stomach, as if to protect her future children from the screams that shuddered down the corridor. Moments in time had come back to her then: Ahsoka protecting her from Aurra Sing, their peace negotiations on Raxus, the young Jedi's bravery in the face of her trial. But Padmé Amidala, queen and then senator of Naboo, had done nothing.

Even though she had given birth in the hospital room next door, it had taken Padmé over a month to pay Ahsoka a visit. At the sight of the comatose seventeen-year-old—skin ashen, lips parted slightly, hands clasped across her chest—she had almost backed out. Then a doctor had approached her— _"Empress, please forgive us…we are doing everything we can, but she…she may not wake up"_ —and Padmé had caught herself against the wall and heaved.

She honestly couldn't remember what had happened after that.

But the moment when she had first met Ahsoka "Skywalker"—not Padawan Tano, not the _true_ Ahsoka, but the Imperial princess—would never leave her. It had been a day or two since _the awakening_ that had thrown the palace into a frenzy—enough time, Padmé supposed, for Anakin to already have indoctrinated her. "Ahsoka, this is your sister-in-law, Empress Padmé Amidala," he had announced in a monotone. "Go on. Be a good girl and show some respect."

Ahsoka had never before appeared delicate to Padmé, but as she came tentatively toward the newly crowned empress, she noticed how _small_ she was, how young. More so as she took her skirts in her hands and dropped into a deep curtsy. Then she spoke in a murmur so soft, it took Padmé a moment to realize what she had said. "It's a pleasure, Your Majesty."

Padmé shot Anakin a pointed look— _what in the Force's name had he done to Ahsoka?_ —but he only stared back, the hint of a smirk on his lips. She inhaled audibly and reached to guide the younger woman back to her feet. "No need for formality. Please, call me Padmé."

"Absolutely not! It would be _blatantly_ inappropriate," Anakin seethed. "I will not have _my_ younger sister referring so casually to a non-blood relative of higher rank. Ahsoka"—he snatched Ahsoka's shoulders and yanked her back into a standing position—"I will permit you to refer to your sister-in-law as either 'Your Majesty' or as 'Empress Padmé'. That is final."

From that point on, Ahsoka had conspicuously kept her distance from Padmé—whether in fear of Anakin's disapproval or on his direct orders, Padmé did not know. For awhile, she had even succeeded in convincing herself that this arrangement suited her just fine. Instead, she turned her attention to the fragile beginnings of her resistance, woven out of nothing but hope and grit and anger, and tried to forget the lifelessness in Ahsoka's eyes as they had reunited.

Somehow, in real time, the entire story spilled from her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, Padmé could make out the occasional nod from Bail, but she did not dare look directly at him. "For nearly two months," she confessed to her lap, "I watched what he did to Ahsoka without a word of protest." Finally, she looked into Bail's eyes, almost disgusted to find _nothing_ that betrayed judgement. He should scorn her. Hate her. Force knew she deserved it. "I let him feed her those horrific lies about her identity and her past, and even though I _knew_ it was wrong, I…"

She took a shaky breath. Bail watched patiently. "He warped her personality to such an extent that I couldn't even recognize her. I almost—I almost didn't want to believe it _could_ be her. At one point, I wondered whether Anakin had killed the real Ahsoka during the Jedi Purge and replaced her with a clone. But then I realized that it couldn't be. Even the Kaminoans haven't figured out how to age an embryo nearly eighteen years in only six months."

 _And I still did nothing._ The words hovered unspoken in the air. Bail cleared his throat and set his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. "You were in shock, Padmé," he reasoned gently. "You had been thrown into a suddenly unstable galaxy, burdened with two newborns and a family back on Naboo to protect, all in the aftermath of your husband's betrayal. You are an incredible person, but you are still human. It's _human_ not to know what to do sometimes."

"'Human'?" she repeated incredulously. She remembered justifying Anakin's murder of innocent Tusken Raiders with the claim that his anger was "human". How could she not have seen that slaughter for the evil it was? "I stood there helplessly as Ahsoka was _tortured._ By _him."_ She clamped her hands over her mouth and shook her head. "I _married_ that monster."

"And you're standing up to him now." She wished she could adopt even a fraction of Bail's confidence in her. "You know why? _That's_ the kind of person you are, Padmé."

Pressing her own argument at this point would be petty, but she didn't see how she could forgive herself, either. At her skeptical silence, Bail leaned into a cluster of throw pillows with a sigh. "Senator, did I ever inform you that Breha and I now have a beautiful baby girl?"

 _A daughter?_ Padmé's eyes widened as she flew through the mental calculations. Breha must have been in her early stages of pregnancy during the rise of the Empire. How, as a prominent political figure and one of Bail's closest allies, had Padmé not known? Perhaps the queen and her consort had decided to keep it to themselves, at least for the first trimester. Or…

"She was adopted, Senator." Bail clearly knew what Padmé had been thinking, for his tone was shot through with mirth. "Her name is Princess Demia Organa, and Breha and I love her with all of our hearts. Like you, Padmé, we would do anything to protect her. _Anything._

"I know you don't believe me, but I understand." His eyes burned into hers so fiercely, she almost diverted her gaze on instinct. "I understand that in the face of the emperor's threats, you believed the only way to protect your family was to abide by his wishes. How could I ever hold that against you, Padmé? How, when any mistakes you made were made out of love?

"And just look at you now. He sent an assassin after your niece, but instead of backing down, you took up arms." Something akin to admiration glistened in his eyes. "There are others out there who feel the same way we do, Padmé. Others who wish to fight—to protect themselves, their friends, their families. But we must be patient, for they are still too afraid to speak."

Silence. Padmé held her breath. "I am not afraid," Bail declared at last. "Neither are you, not anymore. And that is why, Senator Amidala, I would be honoured to join your rebellion."

* * *

The chain of the locket, clenched in Ahsoka's fist, adhered to her skin with sweat as she cut a glance at the chrono. Only ten minutes until the start of the ball; she had maybe two before Anakin showed up in her chambers, come to administer her "medication". Little did he know that this time, it wouldn't have any effect on her—not with the antidote in her bloodstream.

A day had passed since Lux had given her the locket, and now that she had access to the neutralizing serum, she planned on returning to Master Kenobi's cell tonight. Just a few minutes ago, in fact, she had found a new outfit tucked beneath her refresher sink: a greyish-burgundy tunic, complete with a weapons belt and matching leggings, that bore a resemblance to the clothes she had worn on Mandalore. Padmé and Sabé hadn't been able to find her lightsabers, but they had left her a holodisk that projected a map of the palace's ventilation shafts. If Ahsoka was careful, she could use those shafts to reach Master Kenobi's cell undetected.

She cracked open the locket and eased the needle out of the pendant, as Lux had shown her. The metal was slick beneath her trembling fingertips, and she lost her grip a few times. Ahsoka threw a glance at her reflection, but suddenly the girl in the mirror—quiet and anxious and desperate to please, inhibited by a cloud of pastel pink skirts and the weight of a tiara—was a stranger. How could they be one in the same, when this antidote was about to bridge Ahsoka Tano to her past as a Jedi Padawan, leaving the Imperial princess behind for good?

She had no rubbing alcohol; her arm might become infected. She would have to ration the serum, or else she would rapidly run out. Ahsoka's lungs rattled with a shaky breath. None of it mattered—not if this worked. Not if the antidote reconnected her to the Force.

Without another thought, she set the tip of the needle against her upper arm and injected it.

It broke the skin and air hissed through her teeth, but months of practice enabled her to keep still. She had just ejected the needle and slid it back into the pendant when— _"Ahsoka!"_ She jumped as Anakin's voice boomed from her bedchamber. "Ahsoka, where _are_ you?"

The locket would stick out against the layered diamond necklaces she already wore, so she tossed it into a nearby cabinet and materialized outside of her refresher. "I'm here."

"It's about time," Anakin grumbled, as if she had taken hours or something. He motioned for her to sit next to him, and, reluctantly, she obliged. _Just a little longer,_ she told herself, even as he lifted the needle out of its case and jabbed it into her upper arm. Ahsoka chewed on her lip. _Bail Organa is aligned with you and Padmé now. So is Master Kenobi. Just a little longer…_

"Come along, then." The words only barely penetrated her sudden wooziness, and she blinked up at him in vague confusion. He had just been next to her…now he was in front of her…

"For Force's sake, Ahsoka, am I going to have to kriffing _carry_ you?" She glanced at her upper arm and realized he had already removed the needle. So then why…why did she still feel so ill…he reached for her arm but she wrestled out of his grasp and stood on her own. She had the vague sense of dragging herself out of her room, even as the world performed backflips and cartwheels around her, bending the ceiling to the floor and the floor to the ceiling…

The two substances—they must have been at war with each other inside of her body.

At last, the dizziness subsided, and she realized…now something else was there. Something…sort of like a sixth sense…and she reached into it and it responded to her touch, pulsing through her body, rippling in the air. Force, it was electrifying…Force…this was the _Force_. She could almost…no, not feel…not see…but _sense_ things shifting around her. The world was sharper and brighter now, as if it too were aglow with the ecstasy of having discovered… _this_.

Ahsoka once again reached into the energy field, trying to mold it, grasp it, hold it close to her chest…but then an alarm flooded her mind, and she instantly withdrew back into herself. She could feel Anakin's gaze, hot on the back of her lekku. Could he…could he _sense,_ too?

She made an effort not to touch the Force any longer, at least not while she was near Anakin. Yet throughout her trek to the ballroom, she felt it web around her, all brilliance and warmth—a gentle hum, an alluring call. Something tugged at her chest: _yearning_. She yearned to sink back into that world, to let Anakin and his scheming fall to pieces around her, to embrace the sheer joy she had felt only a moment ago, the kind that came with finding an old friend.

But something darker hovered near the edges of her mind, something she struggled to put into words. From shadowed corridors rose… _screams_. Almost like the ones she had come close to hearing for the past two months, ever since she'd woken up as a princess and wandered these halls. Except that this time, they were no longer confined to mere echoes. They convulsed in every room she entered, a twisted, eternal melody that clung to her like clouds of dust.

It was as if the Force itself were replaying them for her—and no wonder. These were the screams of her people, the Jedi, as they were slaughtered in their own Temple.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness," greeted a butler, and Ahsoka realized they had come to a stop in front of the ballroom doors. Anakin said nothing but looped his arm through hers. She nearly shrunk away from his touch in disgust as the shriek of a child ruptured the silence. All of these screams—all of this _agony_ —could be attributed to the evil of the man beside her.

* * *

Night had waned into early morning by the time the ball came to an end, as evidenced by the velvety sweep of darkness beyond the palace's tall windows. Bursting with barely restrained eagerness, Ahsoka rushed back to her bedchambers, changed into her new outfit, and hefted herself into the ventilation shafts before Lahnya had officially even taken her place.

It took Ahsoka at least another fifteen minutes to reach Kenobi's cell. When she finally dropped out of the ventilation shaft, she found him sprawled across the floor, asleep. The _drip-drip-drip_ of water resounded ominously as she tip-toed toward him and shook him gently awake.

She gasped in shock as he lunged at her, straining against the chains that kept him in close proximity to the wall. But as soon as their eyes met, the animosity slid off of his features, replaced by a soft sort of understanding—even curiosity. "Ah. That's better, my dear," Master Kenobi said at last, almost mirthfully. "You look much more like yourself."

It took her a moment to realize that he was referring to her new outfit. Ahsoka knelt next to him, cautiously unspooling layers of her consciousness into the Force. It came even easier this time, as familiar as breathing. "That's not all. I did as you asked, Master Kenobi."

She watched as his eyebrows lifted gradually, his mouth parting into an _O_ of surprise. "As in…you're reconnected to the Force?" When she nodded, he reached to run a hand through his auburn mop of hair. "My word…" He looked back at her. "How? Does _he_ know?"

Ahsoka's chest tightened, and she bit the inside of her cheek. "No. I don't think so. I used an antidote that countered the effects of the 'medication' he gave me. As long as I don't run out, I should be okay." She blinked at him expectantly. "Now you have to teach me."

"Teach you?"

"To use the Force."

"Oh." Master Kenobi blew out some air. A strand of hair that hung in front of his face fluttered slightly. "Of course. Sit down, Ahsoka. Cross-legged. Yes, that's right."

She propped her elbows on her knees and leaned forward. The corners of her lips pulled into a frown. "What good is sitting down when you're supposed to teach me how to fight?"

Master Kenobi sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. "The Force is not a weapon, Ahsoka," he chided gently, with the weary air of someone who had spoken such words on more than one occasion—though maybe with a different name tacked on to the end. "In time you will learn to use it for self-defence—and, of course, to overthrow our _wonderful_ new emperor."

He grimaced slightly, opening his eyes to look at her. "For the time being, though, you must learn how to access the Force so that you can shield yourself. Otherwise, Anakin might sense you and learn of your reconnection, ending your rebellion before it's even begun."

Ahsoka nodded, remembering the alarm that had blared in her mind earlier today. She had been almost certain it had pertained to Anakin. "I understand. Teach me that first, then."

"Close your eyes," Master Kenobi instructed her. She did. "We'll start with meditation. You'll need to become accustomed to how the Force feels before you can ever hope to shield yourself. For now, Ahsoka, I just want you to reach out—mentally, that is—to your surroundings. Now, share with me if you will: What do you see? Hear? What do you _feel?"_

Ahsoka's fingers tightened around her kneecaps. "I—I still hear _them_."

"Hear what?"

She trembled with the exertion of keeping her eyes shut. Though she had already succeeded in wrapping the Force around her, a twisting sensation burrowed past her blanket of calm and grated at her mind. The sound was shrill, a tiny needle that pierced her montrals…

"The screams."

"The screams?"

 _The snap-hiss of a blue lightsaber, its blade iridescent against a dark sky—a sky wreathed by an arched window and peppered with speeders and stars._ "It all happened here." Ahsoka's voice cracked beneath the weight of the realization, the _knowledge_ of what she was about to witness. "It all happened— _our_ Temple—oh, Force! No…no!" _The figures of children solidified, and the blade slid through stomachs, throats, hearts like a knife through butter…_

Ahsoka's mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

Vaguely, she heard a warped version of Kenobi's voice, begging her to pull away. But she felt as if the Force itself had bound her to this moment, and she was too in shock to make it end—

—Until the last of the children thudded to the ground, _dead,_ all tattered beige robes and mussed hair, and her stomach plummeted to Coruscant's core as she dropped back into her own reality. Her eyes snapped open to find Master Kenobi staring at her—lips parted, a question already on his tongue. "Ahsoka, my dear," he said. Soothingly. "Could you tell me what you saw?"

She hesitated before an explanation trickled from her lips. The images had already faded, and though she doubted her description could have been at all thorough, Kenobi's jaw dropped, and he reached to glide a hand through his hair. "No," he murmured. "No, that can't be…"

"Master Kenobi?"

He shook his head once. Then again, more ferociously this time, as if he hoped to fling the images from his brain to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. "No more meditation, Ahsoka." His normally gentle tone brokered no argument. "We'll work on your shielding now."

Ahsoka took one look at his pain-streaked face and decided she didn't have the heart to protest.

* * *

For the next six weeks, she was Princess Ahsoka by day, Padawan Tano by night. The princess attended balls and court sessions and banquets on the arm of her betrothed; the Padawan sparred and fought and ran until she could hardly breathe. All the while the Force flowed and pulsated around her—no, _within_ her, so deep she could feel it shudder in her bones.

Everyone she met gave off an aura, and though it was only a feeling, it translated in her mind into tendrils of light, a flicker of blue or pink or violet that illuminated one's personality. Anakin's broad gait sent flashes of crimson roaring down the carpet behind him; the Force broiled in his vicinity, as if in warning to passersby. Around Erosik, it seethed and hissed like a thousand emerald snakes, and whenever he stepped too close to Ahsoka, the Force came down upon him in raging clouds of smoke. But Padmé's glow, brilliant and serene as a midsummer sunset, radiated flecks of gold—delicate yet lined with something harder, something _strong_.

One morning, Princess Ahsoka sat opposite Prince Erosik with a teacup in hand, suffering through his inane litany of childhood stories. The odour of roses clung to the air with sickening persistence, the olfactory equivalent of a sugar overdose, and sunlight slanted blindingly through the glass gazebo. Ahsoka stared with longing past Erosik's shoulder. Outside, flower petals drifted through the palace gardens, and she dreamt of grasping the satiny substance between her fingertips, of letting ginormous petals carry her far away from this place.

By the time night blanketed the world, however, Padawan Tano sat instead on the floor of Master Kenobi's cell, levitating objects with her eyes closed, the tattoo of dripping water and the lull of her teacher's advice strangely soothing. She felt cool durasteel beneath her fingertips, inhaled musk that she somehow preferred over the roses, and liquid calm stole over her. The Force settled like a shawl over her shoulders, warm and velvety and _safe_.

"Very good, Ahsoka." Master Kenobi—or Obi-Wan, as he had told her to call him—broke past her meditation with only the lilt of his cultured voice, smooth as an undisturbed lake. She blinked open her eyes blearily, and he helped her to her feet. "You've made progress."

He nodded toward a pair of sticks propped against the wall, which Lahnya and Sabé had smuggled into her rooms for swordsmanship training. Ahsoka lifted them into her hands and ran through the katas Obi-Wan had taught her, limbs shifting as gracefully as water. Even without real lightsabers or memory of the Clone Wars, she still used what Obi-Wan referred to as a reverse grip. "You always held them like that when you were younger," he'd told her early on in her training, the ghost of a rare smile gracing his lips. "It used to drive Anakin _crazy—"_

Then, abruptly, his shoulders had slumped, and neither of them spoke for a long while.

By the time Ahsoka finished, beads of sweat dribbled down her forehead and the palms of her hands had worn raw. She dropped the sticks and picked at a splinter that had wedged between two of her fingers. At Obi-Wan's gaze, she looked up at him and breathed, so deeply that her shoulders rose and fell. "Is it enough?" she demanded, her voice low, desperate.

At least a dozen furrows appeared along his brow. "I'm sorry?"

"Is. It. Enough." The words came more like a statement than a question, and she stepped toward him with burning eyes. "Am I ready to fight him now? The emperor?"

A glaze of unresponsiveness settled over his eyes as he stared at her. Then, without warning, he brought a hand to his temple and shook his head wearily. "Stars, Ahsoka, no. You haven't even gone against a practice opponent yet. And Anakin…you have no idea what—"

Loud voices rolled into the cell, breaking off Obi-Wan's sentence. Ahsoka threw herself into a shadowed vestibule as two guards sauntered inside, chuckling and nudging each other almost violently. They stopped as one of them nearly tripped over the sticks Ahsoka had abandoned on the ground. She winced, cursing herself for not having brought them with her.

"Hey…" The guard scooped the sticks into his hands, handling them as tentatively as he might an explosive, before levelling a glare at Obi-Wan. "Where'd you get these, prisoner?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied simply.

The guards exchanged looks of disgust before the bulkier one stepped aggressively towards Obi-Wan. Ahsoka's breath faltered and suddenly she was in the treasury— _on the ground, cheek throbbing, white hot fear coagulating in her veins at Anakin's crazed roars of fury—_

—And as the guard lifted a hand, she hurtled into his path and caught his wrist.

His expression flickered between shock and rage and confusion. With a snarl, she shoved him backwards and dragged her hand through the air in a slow wave. Then she said, to both him and his colleague, "You will forget this entire incident and leave the cell immediately."

"…We will forget this entire incident and leave the cell immediately."

They stumbled dazedly toward the cell door, but Ahsoka called out to stop them. "And," she added quickly, "you will give me the key to release Obi-Wan from his chains."

As they froze, their muscles stiffened beneath their uniforms, and for an instant, Ahsoka feared she had pushed it too far. But then they pivoted in unison at perfect 180 degree angles, and the beefier of the two guards plucked the key from his belt, mindlessly depositing it in her open palm. "Thank you," she murmured, sliding her thumb along the metal. "You will go now."

They sounded their monotonous agreement and left, shutting the cell door behind them. Ahsoka let a moment pass before kneeling next to Obi-Wan and unlocking his chains. "You can be my practice opponent now," she quipped, offering him a hand to help him to his feet.

"Ahsoka," he said urgently as he stood, "Anakin will notice that the chains are—"

"We'll return everything to normal by morning. I'll even give them back the key."

She felt Obi-Wan's eyes on her as she paced to the opposite end of the cell, performing a few stretches as a warm-up. "Ahsoka…why are you suddenly so eager to…to 'be ready'?"

"What do you mean?"

His footsteps clicked against the durasteel floor as he drew closer to her. "For most of your training, you have proven very patient. And yet, for the past few days, you seem…restless. Do you believe you're ready? Is that it? Because I assure you, there's still much to learn—"

"Well, Padmé said we would rise up against Vader before my eighteenth birthday."

A palpable hesitation settled between them, and the Force gave a stir of distress. "…Really," Obi-Wan ventured at last. Ahsoka offered a one-shouldered shrug as she reached to touch her toes. "Why? Ahsoka, tell me. What's happening on your eighteenth birthday?"

She bit her bottom lip as she rose, and a coppery tang flooded her mouth a moment later. She tried not to notice as her stomach coiled into a tight little knot. "It's when I'm of age."

"Of age for what?"

She whipped around violently, hands fisted at her sides. "Can we just start the duel!?"

"Tell me, Ahsoka," Obi-Wan repeated firmly. She flushed, half in anger and half in humiliation—and she hadn't even _told_ him yet. "I _have_ to know. What happens on your birthday?"

"It _won't_ happen!" she snapped—how could he even _suggest_ that it would? He extended a hand and stepped toward her, blue eyes wide in the darkness, but she drew her arms to her chest and shrunk away from his touch. "It. Won't. Happen. Okay? Say it! _Say_ it won't!"

"Okay…okay, it won't. Ahsoka, please, calm d—"

"No, _listen!_ Padmé and I will have overthrown Anakin by then, and Erosik will be—"

Ice hissed suddenly through her veins, and her heart faltered. "Who's Erosik?" Obi-Wan said softly. She firmed her lips and shook her head, backing away. "Ahsoka, is he—"

"—He's my fiancé," she murmured.

The room fell almost eerily silent; even the Force itself seemed to still. Obi-Wan gaped at her, and she swallowed and looked to the floor. "Your _fiancé,"_ he repeated, holding his stomach like he was about to be sick. "Oh, Ahsoka, I…" He was grasping for the right words. There _were_ no right words. Her eyes cut upward to find him shaking his head, as if he could will the concept out of reality. "That's what happens on your eighteenth birthday, then. Your wedding."

She nodded, hugging herself and closing her eyes.

"It was arranged. By Anakin. And you didn't have any veto power."

"No." Enmity sliced into her tone as she added, "I _didn't_."

She expected a tremulous breath, followed by a carefully worded question. Instead, a near keening burst forth to rattle the walls, and she opened her eyes to find him hunched over on the ground—shoulders heaving with laboured sobs, one hand locked over his eyes. _Broken._ She sat at his side and shook him frantically by the shoulders. "Obi-Wan? Please, talk to me."

"I'm sorry, Ahsoka." Though he spoke her name, he hardly seemed to realize she was beside him. _"I_ was the one who trained Anakin—I _insisted_ —I should've listened to the Council—"

She looped her arms around him in a hesitant embrace. "It's not your fault."

He removed his hand from over his eyes and looked at her. Jedi composure had already begun to filter back over his features, but a flicker of desperation still winged through his eyes—that of a father unable to protect his child. She set her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, and he put an arm around her. "It's not your fault, Master Obi-Wan," she repeated quietly.

His sigh seemed to rumble from deep within his core. "Does he at least treat you well?"

 _Erosik? Treat her well?_ She lifted her head from his shoulder, a bitterly tight smile on her lips, and the cords in his neck grew equally taut. "Ahsoka," he breathed, "I'm sorry. That's—"

"Don't. _He's_ the one who should be sorry. And he will be. I'll make sure of it."

She couldn't have said how long they sat there before he said, "You _will_ be ready, Ahsoka. I swear it on the Force itself—I'll have you ready to fight him by your birthday."

She disentangled herself from his embrace. "We should start the duel now, then." Her throat felt raw—had she cried? She couldn't remember. "Morning can't be too far off at this point."

"Okay." His reply came in a hoarse whisper. Obi-Wan rose to his feet and assumed his fighting stance. Ahsoka dragged one of the sticks off of the floor. And though a sheen of sadness still glistened in his eyes, they both took to pretending that nothing had happened at all.

* * *

 **SilverDaye: Thank you so much! I anticipate writing more in Padmé's perspective now than I did in earlier chapters...I enjoy her point of view, as well.**

 **Jayfeathers Friend: Haha, yes. I guess you've got to look on the bright side...Palpatine would have caused double the trouble if he had survived, as we know from the original films.**

 **Hope reigns on: Thank you so much! :) And yes, I agree. Erosik ruins everything. Ugh.**

 **I really appreciate everyone who's reading, so thank you! Tiny spoiler alert: The next chapter is very eventful. It marks one of the turning points in the story. I will try to get it up as soon as possible, but then again...I haven't been very good at quick updates lately.**

 **Also, I have started a new story, called _Project Sablier: Discovery_. (It is actually a rewrite of an old story, but I think I have now improved it.) It focuses on two women from our world and how they fare in the Star Wars galaxy. Like in _Beyond the Glass_ , the main characters I focus on are Ahsoka, Padmé, and Anakin. If any of you are interested, you can find the story on my profile. I am not yet sure whether or not I'm going to continue it, so if any of you do like it, let me know.**

 **With that being said, thank you so much for reading this story! As always, reviews make me super happy. ;) But favourites and follows are awesome, too.**

 **-Isabelle**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey, everyone! I'm back! And I'm so, so excited for this chapter! ;)**

 **Jayfeathers Friend: Haha, agreed. Poor Padmé. And thank goodness for Obi-Wan! At least he was willing to step in and take Ahsoka under his wing.**

 **Guest: Thank you so much! I enjoy giving Padmé as much backstory as possible, because I feel that she really is a very complex and interesting character. I'm also glad that you enjoyed the training sessions with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. I enjoyed writing them. :)**

 **Hope reigns on: Thank you so much! Ahsoka will regain even more of her old personality in about two seconds...**

 **Thanks to anyone who has left a review on this story! Reviews are highly appreciated. Favourites and follows are awesome, too. Quite frankly, it's very exciting for me that there are people simply reading this story, so thank you!**

* * *

 **"I want the life they took away from me! If that makes me headstrong, fine. That's a fault I'm glad is mine!"**

 **-Sara, "Live Out Loud", _A Little Princess_**

* * *

Padmé angled her speeder so that it plummeted into the depths of the Coruscant underworld. It was an old, unremarkable thing Sabé had bought off of some shady Coruscanti merchant, soon after Padmé's transformation into Empress Amidala. Thanks to Sabé's extensive contacts, she and the handmaidens had quickly managed to establish a hideout in the lower levels, but Padmé never would have been able to reach it in one of Anakin's new Imperial vehicles.

She slipped out of the speeder. The velvet of her robe whispered behind her as she tightened it around her shoulders. Even this, one of the simplest articles of clothing she owned, was too luxurious; she had already attracted many a jealous eye, and it was only a matter of time before someone recognized her as the empress. Padmé lowered her head and scampered toward the dilapidated building where she had told Ahsoka the truth of her identity. She ignored the cries of those who begged for food and money, even though their pleas shattered her heart.

One day, when Anakin was gone, she would make sure that they weren't hungry anymore. For now, however, she had to focus on her purpose. Were she to distribute credits, she would also leave her fingerprints behind, and if these strangers turned out to be Anakin's spies….

She winced at the thought. They probably _weren't_ Anakin's spies. In fact, the chances were so slim as to be practically nonexistent. And yet she was still too paranoid to help them.

Padmé hated the person this rebellion—no, this _Empire_ —was forcing her to become.

She came to a stop outside of her hideout, glanced over both shoulders to ensure that no one was trailing her, and opened the door the width of a crack. _Safe._ She slipped inside to find a familiar figure waiting for her, draped in a dark grey robe that flowed around his ankles.

"Bail!" She briefly clasped his hands in hers before dropping into a nearby chair. "I'm sorry I'm late. I had to make sure there was no risk of Ana— _Vader_ —discovering my departure."

"It's quite all right, Senator," Bail replied, stepping neatly to the side. Padmé threw herself backwards with a gasp, and the wood of the chair dug against her shoulder blades. Another person—still mysterious, anonymous, in the refuge of Bail's shadow—hovered before her eyes like a phantom presence. As he took in her shock, a minuscule smile touched the corners of Bail's lips. "It's okay, Padmé," he promised, his voice low, soothing. "She's a friend."

The second figure stepped forward with practiced grace. Light spilled across coppery locks of hair, stencilled in shadows beneath familiar, blue-green eyes. _"Mon?"_ Padmé's posture snapped upright, suddenly ramrod straight. "Oh, thank the Force. I—I feared you might not be…"

"We're few in numbers now." Mercifully, Mon Mothma spoke before Padmé was forced to continue. "But I am alive. As are Princess Nadila and Countess Emalina, as you know, and a few others." She sighed and lowered herself into the chair across from Padmé's. The wood groaned beneath her weight, as if it too felt obliged to express its exhaustion. "Unfortunately," Mon continued sagely, "our losses at the Battle of Chandrila far exceeded our gains."

Padmé nodded. "I'll get straight to the point, then. We have to launch an attack on the Imperial Palace in two weeks. Do we have the necessary supplies? Contacts? Ammunition?"

Two raspy intakes of breath. Padmé locked her eyes on the opposite end of the room: a swath of wall, riddled with peeling paint and faded graffiti. Still she could sense the astonished gazes, the flash of motion as Bail and Mon wheeled to exchange glances. Not a good sign.

"Padmé," said Mon at last—tentatively, as if to appease a child prone to tantrums. A flush of annoyance heated Padmé's cheeks; since when had her colleagues felt the need to act so cautious around her? "Two weeks…that's too much to ask. We've just barely begun."

The empress curled one hand into a fist. "I'm _not_ waiting longer than two weeks."

"Why, Padmé?" Bail's voice unfolded from the silence like a ripple of cool water: a relief for all involved, a rupture of surface tension. "Why two weeks? If we launch an attack before we're ready, it will alert Vader to the fact that we exist on Coruscant, and we'll lose the element of surprise. Even if he didn't manage to instantly wipe all of us out, he would at least be prepared the next time we attempted to strike. Defeating him would become all but impossible."

Padmé's chest tightened, momentarily blocking off her breaths. "I know," she said at last, clasping her hands so that sweat pooled between her palms. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, forced herself to remain calm and collected. To be Senator Amidala again. "Ahsoka Tano's wedding is in two weeks. I promised her we would launch our attack before then."

"Ah." It came from Mon, this single syllable carried on the gentlest of sighs. Padmé had explained to her Ahsoka's betrothal while on Chandrila. "I see your dilemma, Senator. Yet we must prioritize the needs of the many over the needs of the few. You understand this."

Blood drained from behind Padmé's cheeks, left the tips of her ears tingling and numb. At the same time, she felt as if the surrounding temperature were rising exponentially. She batted away a stray curl that had fallen in front of her eyes, trying to distract herself with something—anything—that might block out the building panic. And finally, after a few deep breaths, a solution came to her. So perfectly simple—how had she never considered this before?

Padmé inclined her chin and flicked her gaze between her fellow senators. "Why would we launch an invasion at all," she began, "when Ahsoka and I are already inside?"

* * *

 ** _Two Weeks Later_**

The apprehension had built to such a high that she almost couldn't feel. In her hands, she held a formal invitation to the wedding—never mind that the maid of honour, not to mention the Galactic Empress, didn't technically need one. Numerous times, she had brushed her thumb along the top of the paper. Yet she remained too numb to know the scrape of parchment against her skin. Proof of being alive, this newly unattainable sensation. Did she want it?

Padmé's vision blurred as her eyes landed on Ahsoka's and Erosik's names, written so close to each other in a loopy, cursive font. Had Ahsoka always had _three_ middle names? She bit her lip and looked up, into the eyes of the Padmé in the glass. A young handmaiden—one who was not aligned with her cause—stood behind her, wrangling Padmé's natural curls into uniform ringlets. Then she stabbed the empress's scalp with diamond pins to secure the intricate up-do.

A shiver crawled along Padmé's skin. She could smell the distant scent of lavender that had been infused in the parchment. For some reason, vomit welled at the back of her throat.

 _What if this doesn't—_

She had to stop herself from following through with that train of thought. She had been brooding over that possibility for the last two weeks—especially the previous evening, at the rehearsal dinner. It had been as if she were watching all of her worst fears play out before her eyes, in a haze of impossible surrealism. The sight of Erosik kissing Ahsoka—for Anakin had decided that they should "practice" before the wedding—had filled Padmé's slumber with nightmares, and she had woken even more sickened than before, sweat sticky against her skin.

She resumed brushing her thumb against the top of the paper. Sudden dizziness surged behind her forehead, fuelled by a maddening flurry of plots and fears and hypotheticals. They were interrupted by the shriek of opening doors, and the emperor's subsequent entrance.

The handmaiden practically dropped the curling iron to get down on her knees in time. Padmé didn't. As the empress, she was the only person in the Empire who didn't have to—other than Anakin himself, of course. It was another thing about this new galaxy that nauseated her. No one person should ever have acquired this much power, let alone her husband.

He marched across the dusty rose carpets that adorned Padmé's dressing room. A comb lay on the counter of an antique Nabooian vanity; he snatched it up and streaked it languidly through his hair. Padmé narrowed her eyes. This was…strange, to say the least. Anakin usually had his servants perform even the simplest of tasks for him, as another symbol of his power. But here he was, refusing their services on the morning of his so-called little sister's wedding.

A keen sense of dread welled up in her chest. What was he playing at this time?

"This makes me think of _our_ wedding," Anakin said at last. He still didn't turn to face her, so Padmé watched his reflection with keen eyes. The methodical way he kept running the comb through only _one_ section of hair. "Remember our picnic in the lake country of Naboo?"

Her chest tightened. How _dare_ he mention Naboo to her. Where her family still resided. Where Anakin had sent an assassin after Pooja. Where Padmé was no longer allowed to go…

 _"_ _Yes,"_ she spat, her tone soured by rage.

"That was so…nice," Anakin declared. Then, without warning, he slammed the comb onto the counter. An array of perfume bottles clattered in distress. "Two lovers left alone, with only each other as company. Not a care in the galaxy." He sighed, arching his back in an exaggerated stretch. "If only I could arrange something like that for my sister and her husband-to-be."

Padmé nearly cried out in alarm. She even lurched forward, as if to restrain Anakin. But she realized what she was doing as the curling iron yanked at her hair—and, reluctantly, she bit back her protest. "What?" she demanded instead. "You're talking about a honeymoon?"

"Maybe." Anakin raked his hands through his hair, destroying any of the minimal progress he'd made with the comb. "But I don't think I could. You see…I wouldn't want it to _rain_."

Padmé stared at him, curling one of her hands into a fist. So now he was conversing with her in riddles. "His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Vader—afraid of the weather," she mocked. But when he whipped around to look at her, she reciprocated his attention with a blank stare. She had kept her tone neutral enough that it could have come across as a poorly delivered joke.

"Remember how happy we were?" he said at last, choosing to ignore her last comment. "Remember how we felt almost like we, and we alone, controlled the galaxy?" He looked at her pointedly. She kept her expression blank. "But that could have all disappeared. It was such a fragile feeling, after all. What if it had rained, and the glamour was spoiled forever?"

Padmé looked down at her lap—at the wedding invitation, now crinkled and stained with sweat around the edges. "It almost never rains on Naboo," she said quietly, tracing the cursive of Ahsoka's name with one finger. "And that wouldn't have spoiled anything. Not in the long run."

All of a sudden, there was a prolonged silence. And then the sharp convulsion of dread, followed by an expulsion of breath, and the realization of what she had just said. Anakin had manipulated her into thinking that telling him off as she had would vex him. But now she understood that that was exactly what he had wanted her to say. Because she had just admitted to him that anything she and Ahsoka would do couldn't have any lasting impact, and—

Coldness spread its spindly fingers from her head to her toes. Padmé lifted her head to look at Anakin; it felt heavier than usual. Her husband was already watching her, his lips twisted into a cruel smirk, and another chill shot down her spine as her worst fears were confirmed.

 _Oh, Force. Oh, Force, no—_

"I think Ahsoka will want my help getting ready, won't she?" Anakin announced pertinaciously, striding toward the door on long legs. He stopped by Padmé for a fleeting moment, brushing his lips against her cheek in what she found to be an almost mocking gesture. As if he still actually loved her, like he had before. "I'll see you at the wedding ceremony, _Empress_ Amidala."

Her hand shot out to grab him, but he evaded her touch, gone before she could even cry out.

She sat in shock for the next few moments, her fingers tangled in the satin of her bridesmaid's gown. And then, with a desperate amalgamation of a scream and a sob, she ripped the wedding invitation down the middle and chucked the pieces onto the floor. The handmaiden stumbled back in surprise, still clutching the curling iron, as Padmé flew to her feet. "I'm sorry," said the empress, taking skirts of violet satin and chiffon in her hands. And then she was flying down the halls of the Imperial Palace, an artificial wind rushing through her lopsided up-do, trying in anguish to get to Ahsoka before Anakin did—or else, she knew, she would be too late.

* * *

Princess Ahsoka's dressing room had been swarmed by varying shades of purple and pink: the former worn by a throng of bridesmaids and the latter by two young flower girls, all of whom were royalty and nobility from the Empire's most powerful planets. The only person Ahsoka actually knew amongst the crowd was Countess Emalina of Chandrila. She didn't know about the plan—Ahsoka and Padmé had deemed it risky to tell too many people—so she would oftentimes meet the princess's eyes and mouth, almost lugubriously, _I'm so sorry._

Ahsoka's heart dropped to her stomach every time. Even though most of the people surrounding her were giddy with excitement, it still felt more like a funeral than a wedding.

Honestly, after the recent skirmish on Chandrila, Ahsoka was surprised that Emalina had been invited to join the wedding party at all. The bridesmaids and flower girls hailed from the emperor's _favoured_ planets—a blatant slap in the face to any notable worlds that had been left off the list. Though perhaps Emalina's presence was intended to remind the public of Vader's recent success on Chandrila, and his ability to wrangle the planet under Imperial control.

As Ahsoka pondered this, Lahnya approached her gingerly from behind, kneeling as if to fluff the skirts of her bridal gown. "Are you ready, Princess?" she murmured, except that she wasn't talking about the wedding ceremony. Ahsoka closed her eyes and pursed her lips. Lahnya had slipped a dagger underneath her skirts, and was fastening it directly beneath the knee.

"Yes," Ahsoka said, her voice surprisingly steady. "I _am_ ready. I have been for a long time."

Lahnya stood and nodded. Her hands were trembling, so Ahsoka reached out and took them. "Everything is going to be okay," she said, keeping her tone mild enough that any onlookers—for there were doubtless many of them—would assume she was talking about the wedding.

"I know," Lahnya whispered. Then she leaned a bit closer and lowered her volume so that only Togrutan montrals would pick up the sound of her voice. "If anything goes wrong—"

"It won't," Ahsoka said.

"It might," Lahnya replied, her voice trembling with intensity. "And if it does, Princess, you have to get out of here. Don't be a hero. Leave me. Leave Sabé. Leave _everything_. Run."

The girls locked gazes. Ahsoka tightened her grip on Lahnya's hands. "Jedi don't run."

Before she could fully process the handmaiden's wide eyes, Anakin's Force signature had tightened within the surrounding air. Ahsoka whipped toward the door, pulling her hands back to her sides. "Everybody out," the emperor boomed, marching into the dressing room. The panicked bridesmaids scattered into even clusters. "I want to talk to my sister alone."

The bridesmaids and flower girls exchanged tenuous glances before quickly filing out, lustrous satin trains gliding in their wakes. Lahnya and the rest of the handmaidens followed. A moment later, four Imperial guards stormed into the room, each with an electrostaff in hand.

Ahsoka swallowed hard. She had figured Anakin would have rigid security today, especially after the attempt on his life staged in Hanna City, Chandrila, but she hadn't expected his guards to accompany him to her dressing room. This would complicate things, but it surely wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Especially after Emperor Vader had been…eliminated.

He approached her slowly, hands clasped behind his back. She waited for a moment as he looked her over, her heart thundering against her ribcage. Her bridal gown had been sewn of luxurious white silk, and the outermost skirts were lined with rose-patterned lace. Elaborate diamond-and-pearl beading shimmered along the bodice. As if the wedding dress itself weren't extravagant enough, a ballgown of a similar fashion—this time in pale pink—occupied a place of honour in the corner, ready for her to wear to the reception. Ahsoka felt disgustingly made up, and the heavy diamond jewellery, satin heels, and decadently embroidered train would create difficulty if this were to descend into a fight. But she would figure it out. She would prevail.

She had to.

"You become an adult today, Ahsoka," Anakin said at last. "How do you feel?"

She pursed her lips together. "Not much different. Not really."

"No?"

She shook her head, trying not to squirm under his gaze, for she had the vague sense that he was interrogating her. Then again, that was nothing new. Not from him, anyway.

"Well, you must at least be excited," he said at last, reaching to fluff her skirts.

"I am," she replied. _Just not about the wedding,_ she added mentally.

"Good." She noticed that his hand was wandering dangerously close to her left knee, where Lahnya had fastened the dagger, and she tensed. "Is something wrong, Princess?"

Her gaze snapped back up. "No. Nothing. Just…daydreaming, I guess."

His eyebrows shot upward, and he took a step back. At least he was moving away from her. "You can daydream some other time, Princess. The parade can't start without you."

 _The parade._ Ugh. She and Erosik were supposed to sit side by side in a luxury speeder, smiling and waving and holding hands, as crowds of people clamoured to take their holophotos and the couple headed towards the nearest temple to seal their fate. A humourless thought, tinged with more than a touch of morbidity, passed through Ahsoka's mind: _We're in the former temple of a slaughtered group of people._ My _people. Why don't we just have the wedding here?_

"Come along, then," Anakin ordered, shaking her from her musings. Ahsoka realized, with an unexpected jolt of excitement, that this might be the last time she ever heard him say that. But the thrill soon dissolved into fear as she dutifully took her place to the emperor's right.

Now. Right now. _Right now, Ahsoka._

Drawing on her Force-induced speed, she bent to snatch the dagger from beneath her skirts, and now the hilt was in her palm, which was already sweaty, and Padmé was standing in the doorway, her hair half-done, and— _Padmé?_ For just a millisecond, Ahsoka froze, and their eyes locked. "Ahso—!" But then Anakin had snatched her left arm—the one with the dagger—and bent it backward, far enough that she realized he was trying to dislocate her shoulder!

Ahsoka grit her teeth and mustered all of her strength, yanking away from him as she thrust forward her right hand. Anakin stumbled backward a few paces, caught off guard by her Force-push, but he soon recovered well enough to shake his head at her condescendingly.

"I _thought_ so," he sneered, as his hand settled on his weapon belt. "I thought you had found a way out. Did you really think, Ahsoka, that I wouldn't notice your signature in the Force?"

She realized a moment too late that he was mocking her. Because of course she wouldn't have known that. How would she have? He had obliterated most records of the Force, and besides, he didn't allow her to frequent the royal library without a chaperone. Ahsoka sunk the nails of her right hand into her palm. Adrenaline pumped furiously through her veins, whisking the world around her into a dizzy, pulsing haze. "You are going to _pay_ for what you did to me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Princess. So naïve. You realize that if I considered you a threat, I would have eliminated you as soon as I realized you were reconnected to the Force?"

"You underestimate me," she warned him.

In response, Anakin chuckled and shook his head slowly. "Eight weeks of self-study isn't going to enable you to defeat me, Ahsoka. I hope you realize this." He took a step towards her, but she almost didn't notice. Her mind was still reeling with the enormity of what he had accidentally revealed to her. _Self-study._ He didn't realize that she had been training with Obi-Wan.

That would give her an advantage. There was still hope.

"You could just give up now, Princess," he offered, gliding an open hand toward her. More rage flamed to life at the suggestion, especially when paired with her fake title. "You could give up and come with me. Your wedding will go as planned, but nobody will get hurt. Not you, not Padmé, not Luke or Leia…I might even spare my sister-in-law and her daughter."

A near shriek ripped from Padmé's throat, and Ahsoka looked up at her. She was being restrained by one of the Imperial guards, whom she was fighting desperately. "Don't listen to him, Ahsoka! Don't listen to him! He doesn't mean any of it; he _never_ means any of it!"

"I know," Ahsoka agreed, clutching her dagger tighter. "He doesn't."

A dark chuckle escaped Anakin's lips. "You don't want to do this, Ahsoka."

"Actually, I do," she spat at him. "Otherwise we wouldn't be here, would we?"

For just a second, the certainty slid from his features, and she realized, with a rush of satisfaction, that he didn't know what to do. Throngs of people were currently gathered outside of the palace, wrestling each other for even a glimpse of the prince and princess, and thousands more had been invited to the wedding. He couldn't drag her to the altar while she kicked and screamed in protest. After less than a year on the throne, his position as emperor still wasn't completely secure; his political opponents might seize the opportunity to antagonize him. But he couldn't refuse them their show, either, or else they would know something was wrong.

"All right," he said at last, his posture morphing upward as he regained confidence. "I'll humour you, then." And all of a sudden, he was a blur, darting towards her, and she tossed the dagger to her right hand, just barely managing to snatch the wrist of _his_ right hand with her left, but then he whistled and someone else was behind her, trying to pry open the fingers of her right hand so that he could disarm her. She kicked the Imperial guard in his stomach, but her leg caught in trappings of silk and lace— _screw this wedding gown!_ —and Anakin caught her smoothly around the waist. He dragged her against him, holding Ahsoka's own dagger to her neck.

"Surrender now," he growled. "This is your last warning, Ahsoka."

She pursed her lips, pretending to think it over. "Hmm," she said deliberately. "You know, Your Majesty, I would, but unfortunately Ahsoka Tano never heeded warnings that well."

She flicked her wrists, and two of the guards' electrostaffs shot off of their belts, rushing through the air to land in her palms. She activated one of them and dug it brutally against Anakin's thigh. He howled and dropped her, but her skirts cushioned the fall, surging high enough to reach her shoulders upon her collision with the floor. Three of the guards approached her—all of them except the man restraining Padmé—and Ahsoka eliminated each one in turn, trying not to think too hard as she plunged the electrostaffs into their chests. _This was a necessary loss. It was. Did she_ want _to spend the rest of her life as Emperor Vader's helpless little sister?_

Locking eyes with Anakin, she used the spiked tip of the deactivated electroblade to tear off the train of her wedding gown, so that the skirts only dropped to her knees. Then she kicked off the satin heels, making an extra effort to fling them as far across the room as possible. "Why so surprised?" she demanded. "You thought I'd start sobbing and beg for your forgiveness two minutes in? As if _I_ were the one to blame? As if you hadn't been the one to abuse me?"

Princess Nadila had used that word to describe Anakin, and though Ahsoka had refrained until now, she realized that it was the truth. Since becoming Vader, he had tortured her and hit her and lied to her and threatened her. And all of that abusive behaviour stopped now. He was going to wish he had never kidnapped her and brought her against her will to Coruscant.

"Padmé!" Ahsoka cried, tossing the empress one of the electrostaffs. She activated it and shoved it into the chest of the guard restraining her, whose body immediately crumpled to the ground. "There," Ahsoka said, taking a step towards Anakin. Then another. "All of your security is gone. If you're so strong, and I'm so weak, then surely you can fight me yourself."

He laughed darkly. "Oh, it will be my pleasure, Princess."

Then he reached for his belt. And he removed—

—His _lightsaber_.

Ahsoka's breath snagged as the blade burst from the hilt with a sinister _snap-hiss_. Never before had she seen an ignited lightsaber in person—at least, not since her memory loss. But at least Obi-Wan had taught her how to use one. Maybe she could disarm Anakin and wield his sabre against him…but for now, the electrostaff would have to work as a makeshift sword.

"Padmé," Ahsoka said. The syllables scraped the back of her throat, almost like a growl. "Padmé, run." She grew panicked as she didn't hear footsteps. "Padmé, run! Now!"

At last, heels clicked against the hardwood floor, and Ahsoka assumed a fighting stance, holding the electrostaff in her favourite reverse grip. Something indescribable possessed Anakin for a moment, but then he regained his senses and charged. She caught his blade with the electrostaff, holding him in place for a moment before shoving him off. Then she advanced, slamming her blade down on his and using the momentum to force herself upwards.

Her body rotated in a graceful arc over Anakin's head, aided by the Force. Ahsoka landed on her feet with her back to the emperor, and though she whipped around quickly, she found that he had done the same. Their blades clashed again with an intoxicating fizzle and spark.

Ahsoka grit her teeth as she realized Anakin was driving her toward the wall, near a vanity she'd used to prepare for a wedding ceremony she would never attend. She quickened her parries and leapt onto the surface of the vanity, hoping to use the extra height to leap over Anakin's head and attack him from behind—but right as she jumped, he snatched her ankle.

She gasped as he yanked her back down—and then her head slammed against the vanity surface, and her vision scattered and swam in frantic patterns. Crystals of light fanned about each of the bulbs in the chandelier above her, searing her eyes with vicious brightness. "I warned you, Ahsoka," she heard Anakin say, and then she felt his arms wrap around her—he was trying to carry her away again!—and she screamed in anger, groping for the electrostaff. She found it and wielded it almost blindly, until the back end collided with something.

 _The mirror._

She knew from the piercing shatter of glass, and the clawing of shards against her skin—some of those shards were even _imbedded_ in her skin now, or at least it felt like it—but she didn't care. It had bought her time. She searched the vanity surface for a particularly large fragment and tightened her grip around it, then reached out and pulled Anakin toward her by his collar—like he had done to her all those months ago in the treasury—and held it to his throat.

She put a bit of pressure on it. And a single drop of blood appeared.

"How does it feel?" she demanded. "To be at _my_ mercy?" But she was trembling. She was thinking now of something Obi-Wan had told her at their last lesson. _Jedi don't get revenge, Ahsoka. We fight against injustice and defend peace. But we are never bloodthirsty._

Only Sith were supposed to be bloodthirsty.

"You can't do it," Anakin said calmly. "You can't kill me. Not like this. It's too intimate."

A feral scream rose in her throat. She pushed it back down. She was a Jedi. She would remain calm. "Why did you do it?" she demanded instead. Now she was quaking so hard, she almost couldn't control herself. "Why did you turn to the Dark Side? Why did you destroy the lives of everyone you loved, and go out of your way to weaken—even to _humiliate_ me?"

"Don't be so ungrateful, Ahsoka. I did you a favour. Jedi can't exist in this new galaxy. But I knew that you wouldn't accept that. So I saved you—even though, at the time, I knew you would be an unwilling participant. I gave you a beautiful new life, one in which you would never be persecuted like the others." Then he paused. An almost melancholy smile curved his lips. "Once we're finished with this little game of yours, of course, I'll pay you that favour again."

A shudder seized her entire body. "What?"

"I wiped your mind once, little one." He chuckled mirthlessly, his eyes searing into hers. "I can do it again. This time, though, I'd have to completely isolate you. You'd be able to see me, of course. And your husband-to-be. But not Padmé. No. I wouldn't let her get to you again."

 _He's just trying to scare you,_ she told herself. _Ahsoka, stay calm. He is just trying to scare you!_ But the thought of losing all of her memories—all of her progress—was enough to make her want to sob. Not to mention an isolation so rigidly enforced that she'd only ever see Anakin and Erosik. "You forget, Your Majesty," she said. " _I'm_ the one with the blade to your throat."

Anakin's eyebrows flicked up to his hairline. "Then do it," he said. "Kill me."

Every part of Ahsoka's body tensed. She _had_ to do this. If she eliminated Emperor Vader right now, then he could never hurt her again. He could never hurt _anyone_ again. Obi-Wan would be free. Ahsoka would no longer have to get married to Prince Erosik. Padmé could take over as the dowager empress and end Anakin's régime for good, replacing it once again with democracy. So many lives would be saved or improved by killing this one person.

 _She had to._

Ahsoka readied herself with a deep breath…but it was too late. Her grip had slackened while she was reasoning with herself, and Anakin had already yanked himself free and snatched her wrist. He twisted it brutally to the left, forcing Ahsoka to lose her grip on the piece of glass, then slung her effortlessly over his shoulder. She extended a hand and used the Force to drag a discarded electrostaff toward her, crying out as she drove it into Anakin's back. He hissed and dropped her instantly, and she climbed back to her feet, reactivating the electrostaff.

"Let us finish this duel _properly,_ Your Majesty," Ahsoka sneered, in mockery of the formal language she had been expected to use as an Imperial princess. "Now, _shall_ we?"

Force, she had been foolish. She could have won this fight already and made her escape, but instead she had succumbed to fatal hesitation. So as Anakin lunged at her, whipping his blade above his head to prepare for his next strike, she made a solemn promise to herself.

She would never be that foolish again.

* * *

Padmé ran.

She ran and ran and ran, through familiar and unfamiliar hallways, until her sides were burning and the soles of her feet were aching and her heart was punching furiously against her ribcage. Alongside her, the ghost of her reflection darted toward the same destination, trapped in gleaming walls of gold leaf and pink marble. Padmé skidded around a corner, grasped a gold banister in her sweaty hand, and stumbled up a set of marble steps; at the top of the staircase, a mahogany doorway rose majestically into view. Padmé let out her breath on a sigh. "Thank the Force," she muttered, snatching the handles and trying to yank open the doors—

 _Oh, no._

She froze, her fingers still clamped around the handles. She gave the doors another tug, but they wouldn't budge. Again. Again. Again. Her shoulders shuddered with pent-up sobs, and she rattled the doors desperately. Oh stars, they wouldn't budge, they wouldn't budge…

Anakin had known about Ahsoka's plan; surely he had figured that Padmé would come for her children. And he had locked the nursery ahead of time so that they couldn't escape.

 _Don't panic, Padmé,_ she commanded herself. _Don't panic. Stay calm. You have navigated situations like this before. Think. Just think. How have you dealt with this in the past?_

Once she had managed to sufficiently calm herself, her thoughts wandered back to the very beginning of the Clone Wars: the first Battle of Geonosis. She had escaped from chains then with only a simple bobby pin at her disposal. A simple trick—one that Sabé had taught her, in fact. Padmé fished around in her partially finished updo, found a pin, and slipped it into the lock. After only a minute or so, the doors clicked to admit her, and she shoved them open—

—To come face to face with two guards, already poised for attack. Without waiting for them to act first, she grabbed the first around her neck and stole the blaster from her holster, shooting the other Imperial in the chest. Then she held the gun to the side of the woman's head and demanded, "Are there any other security measures in place in this room? Tell me."

"No, no!" the guard protested, chewing on her lip. "No, Your Majesty, I promise…" Padmé glanced down at the blaster and switched it to stun, then once again aimed and pulled the trigger. For some reason, after having actually spoken to her, taking the guard's life seemed…unbearable. And yet she had killed the woman's colleague without any scruples…

Padmé shoved those thoughts out of her mind and sprinted to Luke's and Leia's cribs. The latter, having probably been awoken by the gunshots, was already bawling loudly. "Leia, shh," Padmé cooed, reaching into the crib to scoop her daughter into her arms. "Leia…"

The little princess gazed up at her, dark eyes large. For a moment, she made only a small gurgling sound. And then her face flushed red and she started to scream again, snatching one of Padmé's loose curls and yanking on it. The empress bowed her head, and a few tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped onto Leia's forehead. She almost didn't even care that she was screaming like this. It had been so long since she had been allowed to hold her…

"Leia, shh," she murmured, her voice choked with tears. Inexplicably, Leia silenced herself, as if she knew it was necessary for their escape. _Already so smart, my little girl._ Padmé smiled tearfully down at her daughter, who was now blinking at her in confusion, and ran her fingers along her feathery dark hair. Then she walked to Luke's crib and took him in her other arm. He was still asleep, thank the Force. His little head rested comfortably against her shoulder.

Padmé had just turned to make for the doors when sudden cries—battle cries—echoed from the hall, sending her scrambling back a few paces. Leia produced a shriek, followed by another prolonged scream. Luke blinked open his eyes with a whimper, beginning to stir. "Shh," Padmé said desperately, rocking both of her children to the best of her ability. "Shh, shh. It's all right. _Leia._ Leia, please. You're safe, I've got you. Shh…" Finally, her daughter quieted for a moment—and now Padmé could hear another sound, one that nearly made her heart stop.

 _The hum of a lightsaber._

A small figure in white flew inside of the nursery, slamming the double doors behind her and pressing her back to them. From the ornate tiara to the flowy skirts, chopped short at the knee, she wore so many diamonds that Padmé could hardly look at her without squinting.

"Break the window," Ahsoka pleaded, gasping with the exertion of keeping the doors closed. Anakin must have already been trying to break in. "It's our only way out. He's—"

Ahsoka shrieked and darted out of the way as a crimson lightsaber blade appeared beneath her left arm. Her eyes flicked up to Padmé, but something changed in them when she noticed Luke and Leia in her arms. Ahsoka looked back to the window, her muscles taut with panic.

Anakin's blade had already carved a molten semicircle through the double doors. Ahsoka glanced down at the electrostaff she was carrying—the one she had stolen from the guard—and then returned her gaze to the window. Her legs dragged her a few paces from the doors, her features contorted into a mask of desperation—and she swung back her arm to hurl the electrostaff toward the window. Padmé bent to the floor, turning her back to shield her children from the explosion of glass. Leia started shrieking. Luke woke up completely and began to cry. And in the background, Ahsoka's voice was yelling, "Go, go, go! Now! It's open—"

Padmé stood and ran, leaping up onto the window ledge. Her stomach plummeted when she saw the drop. The roof was slanted—she and Ahsoka wouldn't plunge to the core of the planet without any hope of halting their fall—but the distance from here to the ground still sparked a rush of queasiness. Ahsoka would have to take one of her children, she decided; she wouldn't be able to do this while holding both of them. "Ahsoka—" she started, but a yelp of surprise interjected—and then the hiss of a lightsaber exploded in the empress's eardrums.

Padmé's heart kept a panicked beat as she spun cautiously around. Her husband stood not too far away from her. His deep velvet robes were torn beyond repair and his hair was even more dishevelled than usual—but his lips were still contorted into a malicious grin. Anakin knew that Padmé was about to escape with their children. Yes. But now he also had something to bargain with. Because Ahsoka was up against him, and Anakin's lightsaber was to her neck.


	14. Chapter 14

**To anyone who left a review last week, thank you thank you thank you! They made me so happy; I was practically aglow when I read them all. ;) I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to give me feedback!**

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 **Now, onto the next chapter! As you all know, I do not own _Star Wars_.**

 **Love, Isabelle**

* * *

"Go!" Ahsoka screamed, writhing in Anakin's grip. Padmé had already hesitated, her dark eyes flicking between the emperor and the princess. "Go, Padmé! Go! I'll catch up, just get—"

Before she could continue, though, Anakin roughly clamped a hand over her mouth. Ahsoka screamed in frustration as he said, "You're running away with our children, Padmé. Would you really deprive them of their right to grow up with their father?"

This seemed to embolden Padmé. She stood a little taller, her eyes flashing. "On the contrary, I refuse to subject them to a life of abuse and hardship."

"'Abuse and hardship'," Anakin repeated, a derisive chuckle rising in the back of his throat. Ahsoka felt the warmth of the lightsaber intensify as he brought it closer to her neck. "Padmé. My love. Think of all I've done for you. All I've done for our family. We are now the emperor and empress of this entire galaxy. And I ensured that would be the case so that we would never have to suffer through _hardship_ again. Our children will never have to know the hypocrisy of the Jedi and the Republic Senate that put us both through such strife…"

 _"_ _Don't listen to him, Padmé!"_ Ahsoka tried to scream, but it emerged as more of a muffled shriek. She felt Anakin's eyes on her as his rage tightened in the Force.

"Yet now my wife is trying to run away from me with my children," he snapped. "And my own _sister_ has betrayed me. You call yourself a Jedi, Ahsoka. Do you know what the Jedi did to the galaxy? They tore it apart with warfare when they were supposed to be peacemakers. They forbid their members from falling in love and from just being human. They put all kinds of pressure on me that I can't even describe…and do you have any idea what they did to you?"

 _"_ _Let go of me!"_ she screamed. She did have an idea of what the Jedi had done to her. Both Padmé and Obi-Wan had been honest about that. But she had decided to forgive the Order. Because nothing could be worse for the galaxy than what Emperor Vader was doing to it.

Padmé took a purposeful step towards the window. Ahsoka heard a feral growl rise in Anakin's throat. "If you jump," he said, "then your family on Naboo all dies. And Ahsoka—"

"And Ahsoka, what?" Padmé challenged him. "I know you, Anakin. You wouldn't kill her."

"No," the emperor agreed, after a long moment. "I probably wouldn't. But I'd find no issue with wiping her mind again and marrying her off to Prince Erosik."

A prolonged hesitation instantly threaded itself through the air. Padmé looked from Ahsoka to her children to Ahsoka again, almost desperately. The young Jedi dropped her gaze to the ground, unable to meet the empress's heartbroken gaze for a second time…and her heart nearly stopped. At her feet was a stunned Imperial guard…and in her hand was a _blaster_.

"Make your decision, Empress Amidala," Anakin drawled. "There's not much—"

 _Now._

Before Anakin could finish, Ahsoka had extended her hand, using the Force to pull the blaster towards her. She yanked out of Anakin's grip, firing in his direction while simultaneously running over to Padmé. "I'll take your daughter," she said, scooping Leia into her right arm and gripping the gun in her left. "Just _go_. I'll cover you."

The empress nodded, clutching Luke in one arm and using the other to climb out of the window. Anakin sprung at Ahsoka, but she aimed at him cautiously, pulled the trigger…and missed. Gritting her teeth together—he was only a few paces away from her now—she finally opened up completely to the Force, allowing it—no, willing it—to guide her. And when she fired again, the blaster bolt hit Anakin in the shoulder of his right arm.

He cried out, and—for just one second—let down his guard, stumbling away from Ahsoka. But that was enough time for her to run to the window, shoving the blaster into the holster Lahnya had wrapped beneath her knee. Then she grasped the window ledge with one hand as she lowered herself down. "Hold onto me," she instructed Padmé. The empress nodded, gripping Ahsoka around the waist with her free arm.

The young Jedi bit her lip. Padmé was slightly heavier than she was, but at least she could draw upon the Force for extra strength. Still, with Leia in her right arm, her stamina was running thin…and then of course Anakin had to appear at the window. "You come back right now, Ahsoka," he was saying, "and I'll grant you amnesty."

"I don't _want_ amnesty!" she cried. "I want freedom!"

His features contorted into a snarl. "You wouldn't be able to survive out there on your own."

"Stop telling me what I can and can't do! I _can_ take care of myself. I'm not dependent on you anymore. You're just trying to hold me back, and we both know it."

Anakin's eyes were now blazing gold. "I am going to hunt you down," he growled, "and when I bring you and Padmé back, you're _both_ going to be sorry."

Ahsoka's lips pulled into an almost condescending smirk. _This._ This was what it felt like to have power over someone else. And it was terrifyingly glorious.

She winked at the emperor. "Have fun," she said.

And then Ahsoka Tano let herself fall.

* * *

 _They had gotten away. They had gotten away!_

Vader slammed his fist into the nearest wall, but it did nothing to relieve his anger. He considered using his metal hand next but soon thought the better of it. He didn't want to destroy any more of the palace, when Padmé and Ahsoka had already wreaked havoc in the nursery.

 _Ahsoka._

He bared his teeth at the thought of Ahsoka. Maybe he _should_ have just locked her up in the dungeon, like he had done to Kenobi. She had pretended to be so innocent and helpless that at times, he'd even begun to question whether he really _had_ felt her in the Force. And because of his hesitation, he'd idiotically waited to retaliate until he was sure she actually _was_ reconnected. Even then, he had never suspected that she was trained.

Because she had to be.

Otherwise, there was no way she could have held her own for that long. Vader had been training in both lightsaber combat and the ways of the Force since he was nine years old. Ahsoka had what he'd assumed were eight weeks of self-study—not to mention the extremely restricted conditions she would have had to deal with. And yet…

She had had an opportunity to kill him. She had actually almost killed him. And now she had run off with his wife and children…

"Your Imperial Majesty?" Vader turned. A young boy was cowering in the threshold of the throne room. His fear was rolling off of him in waves—and into the Force, as well. "Prince Erosik has arrived to see you."

The emperor raised his eyebrows, clasping his hands behind his back and strolling casually to his throne. On the seat was the dagger Ahsoka had used in her attempt on his life. Next to that was a locket he had found in her refresher, hidden rather poorly in one of her drawers. He picked up both objects, weighing them idly in his hands. "Tell him to enter."

The boy couldn't have disappeared faster. Vader perched himself upon his throne as the prince appeared in the threshold. He tore through the throne room, arriving at the bottom of the podium almost immediately. "What happened to Ahsoka?" he demanded.

Vader resisted the urge to laugh, despite all that had transpired. Prince Erosik was obviously not as concerned about Ahsoka as he was about losing his means of joining the Imperial royal family. Despite his knowledge of her disappearance, he was still dressed in his tuxedo and boutonnière, as though waiting for a wedding ceremony that was not going to happen—today. Because it would still happen. The emperor was going to make sure of it.

"If you answer a few questions of mine, I'll answer yours," Vader said, running his fingertips along the blade of Ahsoka's dagger. Erosik's eyes flicked to it nervously. "You told me that you caught the princess with a servant boy, Your Highness, a little over two months ago. Describe him to me in more detail."

Erosik's eyes flashed. "You're telling me that she ran off with him—"

"I'm not saying that. Answer my question. And remember, Your Highness, that I am still your emperor. You shall therefore address me with proper respect."

The prince glared at the floor. Sometimes, Vader had a difficult time remembering that Ahsoka's fiancé was only a few months younger than he was. "I apologize, Your Imperial Majesty," he said at last. "The boy had brown hair. Grey-ish eyes. He was maybe a little taller than Ahsoka, but shorter than I am. And he was around her age—seventeen or eighteen."

Slowly, Vader nodded. That description made sense when compared to the fingerprint analyses he had had his servants perform on the two objects he was holding. So Lux Bonteri was the one who had been smuggling Ahsoka everything she needed—first the serum that neutralized the Force-suppressant he gave her, then the dagger she had used in her assassination attempt. "And you said that the boy mentioned he was working for a particular senator…"

"Senator Organa," Erosik said. "He gave Ahsoka a locket from Senator Organa."

 _Bonteri and Organa._ Both of them were traitors, then. Vader made note of that as he lifted Ahsoka's locket, dangling it from his metal fingers so that Erosik could see. "You mean this?"

The prince's eyes grew large. "Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. That's the one."

"Good."

A prolonged moment of hesitation. Then Erosik's voice: "Now, um…about Ahsoka…"

Vader pursed his lips together. He would have preferred that the prince wait to be told about the fate of his fiancée, as opposed to constantly pestering him about the explanation behind her disappearance. But this would at least give Vader a chance to test his story. "She, my wife, and my children were abducted…and I have reason to believe that the kidnappers are connected to the rebel group on Chandrila—the one that attempted to take _my_ life."

One of Erosik's hands tightened into a fist. "Are they holding her for ransom? Because we could pay it…"

"Don't worry, Your Highness. You will have your wedding." Vader's voice had enough of an edge to it that the prince's head snapped up, as if he were shocked that the emperor could see right through him. "But unlike you, I do not resort to cowardly means of obtaining what I want. The rebels will issue an ultimatum—of that, I am sure. But I will not abide by their terms. I will hunt them down and reclaim my sister, wife, and children—and then the _terms_ will be mine."

* * *

Padmé clutched her son in one arm and Ahsoka in the other, hurrying her little group through the streets of the Coruscant underworld. She and the others had snuck onto a transport following their escape from the palace; Coruscanti police didn't bother to check the validity of passengers travelling to the underworld anymore, which made it the best option for temporary refuge. Upon their arrival, she had removed a single diamond from the bodice of Ahsoka's gown, which had bought her two cloaks—not ideal, of course, but at least they could serve as feeble disguises for the time being.

Ahsoka was still clutching Leia in one arm, using the other to pull the cloak tighter around her. Padmé had instructed her to do so, concerned about the danger of passers-by knowing that Ahsoka was literally dripping in wealth. The last thing she needed was a member of her group being abducted because somebody thought they could hold her for ransom.

Then the news would get back to Anakin in no time, and Padmé would have lost…

She shoved the thought from her mind as they arrived in front of yet another seedy bar: Padmé's destination. If someone had told her a year ago that she would willingly come here one day, she would have denounced them as crazy. And yet here she was—walking inside with her infant children and an eighteen-year-old Ahsoka, no less!

It was sickening, what desperation could drive one to do.

She sauntered inside as casually as she could, but the blare of the party music was already pounding in her eardrums, and a strange, surreal sensation overcame her. "Come with me," she murmured to Ahsoka, guiding the girl to a vacant corner of the bar. Technically, it was illegal for Padmé to have brought minors inside of this building…yet nobody cared in the underworld. Besides, any galactic laws were now Anakin's laws; why shouldn't she disobey them?

Padmé's eyes scanned the bar. Fractures of colourful light struck the floor, the walls, and the faces of random patrons, lending everything a sort of harsh, unforgiving vibe. A shudder passed down her spine as her gaze landed upon a young woman, sitting alone at a table in the corner of the room. She had a bag at her feet—and Padmé was almost certain that she could see a pair of flight goggles peeking out. For a moment, her breath caught, and she was on Tatooine again, sweat prickling on her forehead, sand pelting her eyes, a nine-year-old Anakin Skywalker in the distance with his podracer…and then she was thrown mercilessly back into the present, her hand on Ahsoka's shoulder, whispering, "There…over there. We're going to talk to _her_."

Ahsoka nodded, her aquamarine eyes almost hazy. Her excitement over having outwitted Anakin had quickly faded as she'd truly come to realize that they had left behind Lahnya, Sabé, and Obi-Wan. Padmé grimaced as Ahsoka's own words floated back into her mind. _"I told her we wouldn't run…and we did. We ran."_

 _But we had no choice!_ Padmé argued with herself, remorse welling up in her chest. _Anakin doesn't know they're involved…they'll be okay…we'll go back for them…once we—_

She found she didn't have a way to finish that sentence.

The empress shook her head and forced up a mental blockade, focusing only on the woman across the room, the woman with whom she needed to speak. She slid across from her, Ahsoka in the next chair, and leaned across the table. "Are…are you a pilot?"

The woman's eyes snapped up to meet Padmé's. They were an emerald green, the same colour as her lekku. "Well, that depends," she drowned, deliberately drumming her fingertips against the tabletop. "What are you willing to pay?"

"More than enough," the empress replied. She held out her hand underneath the table, waiting to feel the reassuring kiss of metal and gems against her palm. When she did, she lifted the bracelet onto the table. It was platinum, adorned with three layers of diamonds. Ahsoka was supposed to have worn it at the wedding ceremony. "This is worth at least thirty thousand credits," Padmé said, pushing the piece of jewelry across the table and biting back a smile.

She and Ahsoka were selling a good portion of the royal treasury. Anakin was going to be so pissed!

The pilot plucked the bracelet off the table, idly twining her fingers around it, and then lifted her glass in the other hand. Slowly, she ran the diamonds along the side of the cup. Padmé winced at the _screech_ sound that emanated through the air. But a grin stretched across the pilot's face as she noticed that the diamonds had left a long scratch along the glass. "So this _is_ genuine."

"Yes."

"Where did you get this?"

Padmé propped her head on top of her free hand. "Maybe we stole it. Maybe we didn't."

A bark-like laugh escaped the pilot's lips. She leaned back in her chair, swirling her drink languidly. "Have anything else?"

Padmé looked to Ahsoka, who was already staring back at her pointedly. The empress nodded, and the Jedi reached around her neck, removing a necklace that was dripping with diamonds and pink sapphires. "Here," she said, offering it to the pilot, who took it and repeated her test.

When the necklace passed, she let it fall from her fingers onto the table, right into the centre of the diamond bangle. "All right," said the pilot, her emerald eyes bouncing from Padmé to Ahsoka to Luke to Leia. "Where is it that you want to go?"

"Alderaan," said Padmé, right at the same time that Ahsoka said, "Naboo."

The empress's gaze snapped to Ahsoka. Her own surprise was reflected back at her in the young Jedi's eyes. "But…your family…," Ahsoka whispered.

Padmé looked back at the pilot, whose eyebrows were both raised. "Can you…can you please give us a moment?" she said, taking Ahsoka's arm and pulling her to the side.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ahsoka's protests gushed out of her. "But, Padmé…your family…they're on Naboo…we have to go rescue them, because Anakin said—"

"We're already too late, Ahsoka." Padmé's voice was clipped. Tears threatened to swell in her eyes, and her throat was hard, but she swallowed her emotions. "Anakin has troops stationed on the planet. And besides, even if we did get there in time…that's where he would expect us to be." Something Mon Mothma had told her suddenly rushed back into her memory: _We must prioritize the needs of the many over the needs of the few._ "It would be better for the Rebellion as a whole if we were to regroup with Bail Organa on Alderaan."

Ahsoka's gaze dropped to the floor, and as a flash of disco light struck her, Padmé noticed that her slim shoulders were trembling. The empress set a tentative hand on the girl's shoulder, then nearly jumped out of her skin when Ahsoka instantly yanked away. "My people are all dead!" she cried, her tone jagged with pain. "I didn't get the chance to save any of them. And I will never get that chance again. But you, Padmé…you still have that chance." Ahsoka reached for one of her hands, gripping it tightly. Her fingernails dug into Padmé's palm. And she was still shaking so hard. Shivering, almost. "I couldn't save my family, so…let me save yours. Please."

Padmé looked at her for a moment. Into those pleading blue eyes. A million memories of Ahsoka flashed through her mind, including their escape from the nursery. Then, she had seemed so indifferent, as though nothing in the worlds could bother her anymore. But now Padmé also saw that she was broken, haunted by not having been able to do anything about Order 66—a pivotal tragedy that she now couldn't even remember.

But saving Padmé's family…that would be her shot at redemption.

The empress nodded, signaling for Ahsoka to follow her back to the pilot's table. The Twil'lek lifted her head when she noticed the two young women approaching, and Padmé once again slid across from her. Her eyes wandered over the sweet face of her son, resting quietly in her arms, as she remembered a past conversation with Anakin. How badly she had wanted to raise her children on her home planet. She had even thought of leaving Coruscant early to set up a nursery. And look at how wonderfully _that_ had turned out.

And yet, somehow, she felt bubbly laughter bursting in the back of her throat, the image of her planet— _her_ beloved planet—once again emblazoning itself in her memory: the crystal clear waterfalls, the grandeur of the Theed palace, the warmth that had filled her when she'd last seen her family. She brushed a few locks of hair out of Luke's eyes, a smile finally curving her lips. "Well," she said, in a near whisper, "I guess we're going to Naboo."

* * *

"She's not much, but she'll get you where you want to go." Atki Greyu—it turned out that was the pilot's name—marched onto her ship, stepping out of the way as Padmé and Ahsoka came up the loading ramp. "If you want, there are some private chambers down that way." She motioned to her right. "You can set up in the room across from the double doors."

Padmé made for that direction, but she stopped and glanced over her shoulder when she noticed Ahsoka approaching Atki. "One more thing," she was saying. "We'd really prefer it if…well, to put it bluntly…if we didn't have any Imperial encounters."

Atki barked another throaty laugh, waving off Ahsoka dismissively. "That's impossible."

"I don't think so," she replied. "Not if I give you this."

Padmé watched as Ahsoka's left hand slipped out of her robe, something shimmery resting in her palm. A gasp escaped her lips as she realized exactly what it was. "Half a million credits," Ahsoka said nonchalantly. "This is worth half a million credits."

Atki snatched Ahsoka's engagement ring from her palm, examining it with wide eyes. _"Force,"_ she breathed. "Look how elaborate the design is…how many diamonds are in this thing?"

"I don't know," Ahsoka said, with a shrug. "Countless. There are pearls, too. And sapphires. I'm not sure what else. But, yeah. You've basically got five hundred thousand credits resting in your palm." Then she snatched it back, sliding it onto her finger—her _index_ finger, Padmé noticed. Not her ring finger. "But you only get to keep it if you get us to Naboo without any Imperial encounters. And," she added, when Atki opened her mouth, "no questions asked."

Then, clutching Leia a bit tighter, Ahsoka stalked off, her lekku bouncing slightly around her shoulders. Atki crossed her arms, leaning her weight on her back foot and cocking an eyebrow. "She's a feisty one. Especially for her age. Are you related?"

Padmé whipped around to look at her. "What?"

Atki shrugged. "I thought you might be a couple at first, but the age gap is too wide. So that leaves blood family as a more likely option. Half-sisters, maybe? I mean, she's obviously only half-Togrutan. Her lekku and montrals would otherwise be more developed at this point."

Padmé's heart plummeted to her stomach as a shudder shook her body. Atki's statement reminded her of something else she was trying to forget, something she hadn't even told Ahsoka. She didn't need to know, after all. Anakin had gone to an extreme, trying to convince the galaxy that she was half-human, and it would only upset her to hear about it…

"We're not blood-related." Padmé's voice emerged as a croak. "She's my sister-in-law."

Then she turned on her heel and hurried to her new chambers. Ahsoka and Leia were inside, seated on a nearby sofa. The former was examining her engagement ring, which she had already pulled back off of her finger. "I hope that Captain Greyu gets us to Naboo without any Imperials showing up," she muttered. "I really want an excuse to get rid of this thing."

Padmé forced herself to laugh, despite the somber memories that had come crashing down upon her. "She will, now that you've given her an incentive."

Ahsoka looked up at her with a half-smile, but before she could verbally respond, Padmé felt the ship stir to life around her. Then they lifted off of the ground, the familiar acceleration jolting the two women forward as they shot into space. So now, finally, they were bound for Naboo—and Padmé could only pray that it was for the better.

* * *

Two hours later, Padmé and the twins were asleep on the pull-out bed. Ahsoka sat on the carpeted floor, legs crossed. She was trying to meditate, as Obi-Wan had taught her to do. She didn't remember Naboo, obviously, but he had told her that sometimes the Force could help a Jedi to get a read on other planets—and even on other people. And if she could get the advantage of learning about Naboo and the Naberries ahead of time, she was going to take it.

She closed her eyes and reached out as Obi-Wan had taught her, directing her focus to Naboo. After a few moments, a blue and green sphere solidified in her vision. She felt the light breezes of the meadows, heard the rustle of the grass and the crash of the waterfalls, somehow simultaneously tumultuous and serene. Then the Force carried her to an image of a particular meadow: an extravagant mansion loomed behind the small figures of a man and a woman, the latter of whom was tossing back her head, her joyful laughter carrying over the wind.

Ahsoka drew closer to the figures, to the thrilling laughter of the woman, wanting, somehow, to join the scene…and then the man, dressed in dark-coloured robes, turned his head to meet her gaze, and her heart jolted to a stop as his blue eyes seared into hers.

"Ana-Anakin?" she sputtered.

He cocked his head when he saw her. Then a slow grin stretched across his face. "Very funny, Ahsoka. What are you doing here? We don't even know each other yet."

"What?" she said, her eyes flicking the woman. _Padmé,_ she realized, as her heart lurched once again. She was still laughing. She hadn't noticed that Anakin had redirected his attention to someone else, and even when Ahsoka called out her name, she didn't respond.

"She can't hear you," Anakin said. "But I can. I know that you're coming here." He picked at the grass. His eyes never left her. "It won't be too long until we meet. Christophsis. That'll be fun."

 _"_ _What?"_ Ahsoka repeated. But the scene before her had already smeared into a colourful blur, and she was thrown into the middle of a gunfight. Blaster fire from both sides passed through her, as though she were a ghost or a shadow. She turned, almost frantically, to the right, where circular robots had positioned themselves, surrounded by transparent spheres—a sort of shield, she assumed. And to her left were men in white armour—

 _Men in white armour._

"No!" she screamed, launching herself backwards, trying to get away from the men who had helped Anakin to capture her on Mandalore. She attempted to catch herself against one of the circular robots but ended up falling right through it, collapsing to the ground. "No…," she said again, a near sob escaping her throat, but then a delicate hand landed on her shoulder, and she jumped, shock seizing her body as her muscles turned rigid.

"Why are you afraid?" said a young female voice, and another scream of horror rose in Ahsoka's throat as she shot around. A Togrutan girl stood behind her, fourteen years old or so—a younger version of Ahsoka. She wore a maroon crop top and skirt, gripping a green lightsaber in her signature reverse grip. But what startled Ahsoka the most were the black lines that ran down her cheeks and along her forehead, almost as though she had been poisoned. "Don't be afraid," said the younger Ahsoka. "I've been infected. I might die soon. You see?" She jerked her head towards thick blue clouds, which were now pouring into the hallway, and giggled carelessly. "You almost died. On Naboo. In this laboratory. Don't you remember?"

Ahsoka opened her mouth to say that no, she didn't remember, of course she didn't remember! But her throat was suddenly dry, and she couldn't get her mouth to form words anymore. A sharp, grating sense had invaded her mind, seizing her in a way that felt almost physical. Maybe the younger Ahsoka noticed it, too, because she looked up at the ceiling, her brow creasing in what looked to be concern. "I can't keep you," she said. "You're needed in your own time frame."

"What?" Ahsoka said, panic flaming up inside of her. "What does—what does this mean?"

"'What does this mean'?" Little Ahsoka tilted her head, her lips curving into a pensive frown. "Well, it means that something's wrong, of course. Can't you recognize a warning?"

"A warning for what? Tell me, a warning for what? Please!" But the younger Ahsoka just flashed her older counterpart a sunny smile, and a split second later, her image was wiped away, replaced by a swirl of colours and patterns that all clashed with each other, and then that was gone too, and there was just a whining noise that echoed endlessly in Ahsoka's montrals. And then she was tossed back onto Atki's ship, on her hands and knees, gasping for air, and when the noises faded away, that piercing sense mounted to a crescendo, sharp impressions of _danger_ pounding in the surrounding air.

Ahsoka climbed shakily to her feet, dizziness rocking the world around her. As soon as she had regained a minimal amount of balance, she threw herself at the door of her new chambers, tugging desperately at the handle. But breath once again fled her lungs as she found that she couldn't. She couldn't, she couldn't, she couldn't… _open_ it.

"Padmé!" she screamed, leaning back on her heels and pulling at the door with all of her might. But it wouldn't budge, and then, with a wash of panicked horror, it all finally dawned on her.

They had been betrayed. Either Atki Greyu was working for Emperor Vader, or she had decided that Ahsoka and Padmé, with all of their expensive jewelry, had to be important, wealthy people who were even more valuable than any of their material goods. "Padmé!" Ahsoka screamed again, and then, finally, the empress was behind her. "It won't budge, it won't budge…"

Ahsoka turned around to look at Padmé, whose face was now drained of colour. The young Jedi could sense her terror and confusion swirling wildly in the Force. They had boarded this ship with the intention of rescuing the empress's family, but now—

Now, how could they even be sure they could save themselves?


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey, everyone! Thanks so much for the reviews, favourites, and follows. :)**

 **Quick note: I think I may have confused some of you in the last chapter. Ahsoka is still fully Togrutan in this story; Vader did not change her species or anything, so don't worry. Atki falsely got the impression that she was half-Togrutan, and I will explain why a bit later. Very sorry for any confusion that was created there.**

 **Jayfeathers Friend: I know I already answered your review privately, as well as above, but just to clarify: no experimentation.**

 **SilverDaye: Thank you for your review! You are about to find out. :)**

 **Guest: Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked the chapter.**

 **HuffleHecate: Thank you! I have also received a request on AO3 to bring the clones into this story, as well, so I think I may try to do that soon...I just need to find the right place to introduce them to the plot. :)**

 **As you all know, I do not own Star Wars. Now, please enjoy Chapter 15!**

* * *

Vader sat in his private chambers on his flagship, the _Devastator_ , sifting through security holos of Kenobi's cell over the past two months. He was trying to figure out when Ahsoka could have carved out the time to meet with him, for surely Kenobi was the only one still alive who could have trained her. Padmé would have told her about him, and she would have sought him out.

His original suspicion had been at night, while the rest of the palace was asleep, but he had already worked his way through two weeks' worth of holos—more specifically, the two weeks after he had first sensed Ahsoka—and there was nothing. _Nothing._ He groaned in frustration, raking his metal hand through sandy locks of hair. There had to be something he was missing…

"We've set our course to Naboo, Your Majesty." His concentration broken, Vader turned to the threshold, where one of his top officers was now standing. Pursing his lips into a tight line, he nodded in recognition. After a bit of thought, he had decided to travel to Padmé's home planet in person. There was a possibility that his wife and Ahsoka would flee there, and even if they didn't, it would give him a chance to make an example of the Naberrie family. Padmé was going to regret ever leaving him. Perhaps he would spare Sola Naberrie, but only to bring her back to Coruscant as a hostage. Then her younger sister would feel obliged to come rescue her.

"Very good." Vader stepped away from the holoprojectors spread over his desk, sitting down on the floor and crossing his legs. "Leave me."

Once the officer had briskly completed that task, Vader closed his eyes and set his hands on his kneecaps, retreating into the Force. As Anakin Skywalker, he had been too brash and impatient to fully appreciate meditation. Now, he knew it could give him the foresight to obtain what he wanted…and he was not above using such techniques as necessary.

Vader soon found himself in a meadow, the emerald green grasses waving gently in the breeze. A crystal dome—the atmosphere of the planet—stretched above his head. He bent his neck to look at the clear skies, closed his eyes and felt the heat of the sun on his skin. Next to him was a woman dressed in gold, her eyes squeezed shut, her chestnut ringlets rippling in the wind as she laughed and laughed. _Padmé._ He was back on Naboo, he realized, enjoying his first romantic picnic with his future wife. He reached out to set a hand on hers, but then something clicked inside of him…almost as though someone else had reached out and latched onto this scene. An invader. Someone from the outside worlds.

And they were _watching_ him.

Slowly, Vader turned…and his eyes landed on Ahsoka. She was blinking at him in shock, her hands clasped in front of her. A thin robe—similar in appearance to a Jedi robe, he noticed, with some resentment—was draped over her tattered bridal gown. He cautiously reached out to her in the Force and sensed that, yes, this was not just part of the vision—this really was _her_. Somehow, she had invaded on his meditation from a different location entirely.

"Ana-Anakin?" she stammered.

He tilted his head slightly, fighting the temptation to roll his eyes. He had almost come to regret allowing Ahsoka and Padmé to call him by that ridiculous name. But then again…he could have fun with her. She probably wasn't experienced enough in the Force to know that this was really him. At the thought, his lips twisted into an amused grin. "Very funny, Ahsoka. What are you doing here? We don't even know each other yet."

"What?" she said. Vader noticed that her eyes instantly flicked to his wife instead of to him.

"Padmé…," Ahsoka said anxiously. "Padmé!"

 _Ah._ So she was still trying to avoid him, even in meditation. How pathetic.

"She can't hear you. But I can. I know that you're coming here." Because she had to be, he reasoned. The Force never would have shown her Naboo if it didn't anticipate she would need to know more about it. Vader played with the grass, searching Ahsoka's bewildered eyes. "It won't be too long until we meet. Christophsis. That'll be fun."

 _"_ _What?"_ she gasped again. She didn't know, of course, that this scene was an actual moment from the past, and that their first meeting on Christophsis had occurred a few months afterwards. But then she vanished, and sparks of light were alive in Vader's vision…

…And he was once again in his chambers on the _Devastator_.

He sat there for a few moments, breathing hard, the image of Ahsoka flashing through his mind. Once again, his former Padawan was standing in the meadows of Naboo, the grass rippling around her ankles, examining him with her head tilted. She had looked like a _Jedi,_ with that robe draped over her shoulders—

He had to find her before her delusions grew too extreme.

Vader leapt to his feet— _he had to find her_ —and then a realization pulsed within him, so thrilling and perfect that he could hardly believe he hadn't thought of it earlier. He knew Ahsoka's description now. He knew _exactly_ what she was wearing, and she didn't know he knew.

He could use that to his advantage.

He flew to his computer and lifted the lid, at once sending a message to all of the registered pilots in the galaxy—for, as the emperor, he now had powers such as these. Ahsoka and Padmé would have to hire someone to bring them to Naboo, wouldn't they? And the only way they would be able to get there would be by space travel. Whomever they had hired would soon see this message, recognize the empress and the princess, and fall for his offered price…

That was, of course, assuming that Padmé and Ahsoka had not split up. But it had not escaped him how Padmé had grown increasingly protective of Ahsoka, particularly after the girl had woken up from her coma. Even—no, especially—when he'd suggested marriage, his wife had been furious, perpetually insisting that Ahsoka was far too young. In a way…Padmé almost reminded him of Anakin Skywalker.

So, no. It was most likely safe to assume that they were still together. With his children, too.

And if this plan did not work…well, it seemed he would meet Ahsoka and Padmé on Naboo, anyway. In that case, he really had nothing to lose.

Vader clicked _send_ on the message and subsequently shoved his heels against the ground, sending his chair rolling over to the table with the holoprojectors. He pulled up the feeds from the next night and watched, tapping his metal fingers idly against the desk. But now that he had distanced himself from them for a few minutes, an unnerving suspicion throbbed in his mind.

 _He had seen this before._

He double-checked the list of the holograms he had to watch, but no…this one had not yet been checked off. And yet, the longer he stared at it, the more convinced he grew that it was familiar. Blowing out some air, he opened another hologram—one he had definitely seen already—and played both of them from the beginning.

They started in subtly different ways: Kenobi finished eating slightly sooner in one; in the other, he adopted the nervous habit of drumming his fingers against the floor. Yet after he made his pathetic attempt at sleep, both of the holos glitched, so quickly and subtly that Vader would have missed it had he blinked. Gnawing on his lip, he aligned them both at the same point, then pressed play. And sure enough, the videofeeds were identical.

So. Ahsoka _had_ trained with Kenobi.

And the feeds had been replaced.

A growl rose in Vader's throat as he slammed _pause_ on the security holos. Someone at his own palace had done this. Someone was working with Ahsoka and Padmé to ensure that the former could complete her Jedi training and rebel against him. For so long, he had actually been outwitted by this cliché technique, as if he were a mere child. But he knew the truth now. And whoever had done this would pay for this treachery—with their life.

* * *

 _No. No, no, no._

That word beat out a relentless rhythm in Ahsoka's mind, and she clenched her hands into fists, staring at the door through narrowed eyes. _No, no, no._ This couldn't be happening. This was a nightmare. Or part of her meditation. They already had such limited time to get to Naboo…and now they were stuck with a pilot who was most likely taking them somewhere else…

A scream of anger escaped Ahsoka's throat as she once again threw herself at the door. But all that resulted from her attempt at freedom was intense pain and then, a few moments afterward, soreness, bleeding through her left shoulder and left hip. "Ahsoka," she heard Padmé say, almost like, _that isn't going to get you anywhere, calm down._

Ahsoka knew that the empress had the best intentions, but her tone was so similar to one Anakin had often used on her. _Come_ on _, Ahsoka, don't be annoyed about_ that _. He's your fi_ an _cé, Ahsoka. I'm your_ bro _ther, Ahsoka. You know we wouldn't ask you to do anything that we didn't think was in your best interests, Ahsoka…_

"Yes, you would!" she gasped, because she was just so angry, and it was all so unfair, and why, why, why had it had to be _her?_ She kicked the door again, pretending it was Anakin, or Erosik, or somebody she hated— _Jedi aren't supposed to hate,_ she could hear Obi-Wan saying, but she ignored him, because she was too upset to care and he wasn't really here, anyway (and that was _her_ fault, because she had left him behind, which made her even _angrier_ )—and then she slipped to the ground, her back against the locked door, burying her face in her hands.

"…Ahsoka?" she heard again. And then Padmé was beside her. "Ahsoka…"

The Jedi screamed into her palms. As loudly as she could. "I thought I was going to beat him!"

"You are. You have. We got away."

"But what's the point?" Ahsoka said. "Don't you see? We've been captured again!"

"No." Padmé nudged her. Then, discreetly, she patted Ahsoka's knee. The gesture was so simple, so easy to misinterpret…and yet, somehow, Ahsoka suddenly knew why the empress was still so calm. "We haven't been captured."

Ahsoka pulled herself to her feet, removing the Imperial guard's blaster from underneath her skirts. She examined it with a new kind of reverance, a smile curving her lips. Obi-Wan had spoken of how blasters were "clumsy and uncivilized"—which, of course, made lightsabers far superior—yet now, she had never been more grateful for anything in her life. She found the control panel on the wall and leveled the blaster at it, firing one shot, then another—

—And the door opened. Just a crack.

Ahsoka and Padmé worked together to heave it open completely, and then they were sprinting through the hallways, trying to find their way to the cockpit. Unexpectedly, after about a minute, Padmé grabbed Ahsoka's hand and muttered, "This way." Ahsoka let herself be yanked along, tripping a little over her own feet, clutching her blaster at her side in case it was needed again.

Turns out, it was. The two women skidded to a stop in front of another door—presumably the one that led into the cockpit. Ahsoka deactivated the control panel in the same manner as before and then used the Force to shove aside the door. She flung herself into the room, spiraling into a Force-aided somersault and landing on her feet next to Atki's chair. Padmé came in after her, planting her hands on her hips as she watched Ahsoka aim the blaster at the pilot.

"You betrayed us," the empress said. It wasn't a question. "To whom?"

"Calm down," Atki scoffed. She didn't look at either of them. "I'm still taking you to Naboo."

"Where on Naboo? To Theed? Or to some remote, unpopulated part of the planet?" Padmé took an aggressive step forward. "And more importantly, who's going to be waiting there to meet us?"

Ahsoka's gaze wandered over Atki's dashboard and caught on something: a datapad, the glowing screen filled with photos of her and Padmé. "Does _this_ have anything to do with your employer?" she spat, snatching it up before Atki could. Her eyes ran down the page, soon snagging on the key words she needed: _His Imperial Majesty._ "Anakin," she whispered. And then she gasped as she noticed something else. "Ten _million_ credits?"

She and Padmé wouldn't be able to stay hidden for long with a price that high on their heads. Especially not if they ran into anyone who was too desperate. Ahsoka scrolled down, her eyes flicking across the notice, glancing up once in awhile to make sure that her blaster was still leveled firmly at Atki. "Oh, listen to this, Padmé," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "We were _abducted_ —you, Luke, Leia, and me—on my ostensibly _joyous_ wedding day. _That's_ his explanation for why the ceremony had to be cancelled. But if anyone is to find us in the next twelve hours, they are to deliver us to the empress's homeworld, Naboo, where the emperor will reward them…" She looked up and laughed derisively. "There's no explanation for why he suspects that four victims of _kidnapping_ would be aimlessly wandering around."

"Nobody will care," Padmé said. "Not the kind of people who would stoop so low for money." She was spitting poison, her brown eyes searing into the back of Atki's head.

Ahsoka's gaze was still running down the page. She found a picture of herself that had been taken only a couple of days after she had woken up from her coma. There was still a sort of confused haze glistening in her eyes, one that made her look perpetually tense and afraid. Ahsoka bared her teeth at the memory, intensified hatred flaming up inside of her. She still hadn't quite known who Anakin was and why he was making her sit still for so long and what the point was, anyway. And she had told him so. Even then, he'd still made her do it.

Beneath the photo was a physical description of her, as though someone couldn't tell what she looked like with a _picture_ of her in hand. She skimmed through the descriptions of her lekku and montrals and eyes and nose…and stopped short, her fingers clamping around the side of the datapad. _Should be dressed in a tattered white gown, long enough to reach her knees, and a thin, brown cloak overtop._

Ahsoka's stomach turned to ice.

 _Thin, brown cloak._

But…that couldn't be right. She and Padmé had picked up the cloaks after they had escaped from the palace and fled to the Coruscant underworld. Anakin hadn't seen her since they had encountered each other in the nursery. Even his description of her white dress should have been mere guessing on his part, because how would he know for sure that she hadn't changed clothing since she had left? Yet somehow, he knew not only that she _hadn't_ changed, but also that she had attained a new garment, as well…

 _"_ _Ahsoka!"_ she heard Padmé yell, but it was too late, because Atki's elbow had already sailed into her ribcage. Ahsoka caught herself on the floor, losing both the datapad and blaster in the process. But then she leapt back to her feet and snatched Atki by her shoulders, driving her knee into the pilot's chest and subsequently Force-pushing her against the dashboard. Ahsoka then hovered her opponent in the air, reaching out her other hand to telekinetically retrieve both the datapad and blaster. She slipped the former under her arm and once again aimed the gun at Atki, narrowing her aquamarine eyes into a glare.

"You should be careful who you cross," she snarled. "Not everyone takes kindly to betrayal."

Atki's eyes had gone wide. Finally, she sputtered, "You're… _you're_ the princess?"

A derisive laugh escaped Ahsoka's lips. "No," she said. "No. There's no true princess. It's all a lie." She glanced at Padmé, whose image was swimming in the edges of her peripheral vision. "Can you take over the ship and get us to Naboo?"

"Of course," said the former senator, slipping into the pilot's seat. Atki almost growled as she saw Padmé take control of _her_ ship, but she didn't resist when Ahsoka forced her hands behind her back and escorted her out of the cockpit.

"You don't understand," Atki said, a few seconds after the door had slammed shut. "You don't understand what it's like to be in my position, and to see an offer like that come up—"

"Maybe. But you don't understand what I've been through, either."

"What _you've_ been through? You're a princess! What in the worlds have _you_ been through?"

Ahsoka stopped walking. Her grip on Atki's wrists tightened to the strength of durasteel. "I am _not_ a princess," she said. "Never call me that again."

"But you _are_ ," Atki insisted, through gritted teeth. "According to the emperor, you are."

"The emperor's word doesn't mean anything to me."

"Well, it should. Because it means something to the rest of the galaxy. A whole lot, actually. Sometimes, it's the difference between life and death!" All of a sudden, Atki's voice, which she had raised only a moment ago, dropped to a whisper. "Like it was for me. Just now."

Ahsoka's gaze flicked to her, remained there for a moment. But she didn't say anything.

"I have a son," Atki said finally. "He's eight and a half now. And we live in the underworld. You saw what it was like, Princess. Do you think he gets good schooling there?" Ahsoka's spine prickled with a sort of anxiety, but she didn't interpret. "I want to raise the money to send him to board in the upper levels and get an education there. And then, once he's older, I need to pay for university. As well as everyday necessities, of course, like food and water. And it might shock you, but most of the clients I get can't afford to pay as nicely as you and your friend. I could sell your jewelry for sixty thousand credits, maybe, but that'll only go so far. Ten million credits would've covered me for life—or, my son's education, at least."

Ahsoka pushed Atki down the hallway until they reached one of the private chambers—the one next to the room where she and Padmé had left Luke and Leia. "You understand that I still can't let you go," she said. "You did try to sell us out to the emperor. And Padmé and I have our own worries—our own reasons for running." Ahsoka opened the door and forced Atki inside, but as gently as possible. "If we ever _do_ let you out, though," she continued, "then I understand why you'd want—need—this. More than I do."

She slipped the engagement ring off of her finger and tossed it to Atki. The pilot just barely caught it, subsequently cupping it in her palms. "Take care of it," Ahsoka said. And then, with a _whisk_ , the door shot up to block Atki from her view, and she locked it.

* * *

A pristine quiet had fallen upon the starry night, cloaking the threat of danger that doubtless pierced Sola Naberrie's surroundings. She ran one hand through Ryoo's dark hair, watching her sleeping daughter with a sort of terrified focus. She, Ryoo, and her husband, Darred, had come to stay at Sola's parents' house after the event that had ripped her life apart. She tried to imagine, her heart already throbbing with pain, what she would be doing right now if she hadn't found her youngest daughter—curls splayed across the floor, eyes wide and glassy, little hands cold and hard—lying on the floor of her room with a _knife_ still through her heart—

Sola screamed unwittingly, flinching away from Ryoo and burying her face in her hands. Not too long ago, there had been a time when she had been the "carefree one"…when she had constantly told her sister Padmé to lighten up, to live a little. That person she had once been had died at the sight of Pooja…her seven-year-old daughter, dea— _no, gone,_ gone _, that's better, Sola_ —and the message written on the carpet next to her, in Pooja's blood…

 _Pray That I Don't Have to Come Back_.

Sola had turned those eight words over and over in her mind, relentlessly, like a way to punish herself for having been unable to save her daughter. Tears trickled down her cheeks, soon turning into rivulets that glided past her chin and dripped into her lap. She held herself tightly, hunching over as if to bear the pain of it, her entire body heaving with the weight of a fact she could still not accept, yet one that would live eternally in her memory as abhorrent, despicable…and forever unpreventable. She opened her mouth to scream, throwing out her hand as though to grasp for Pooja, but she was never able to grab onto her in time, and she lost her voice to the silent void in which she was trapped.

"Sola," she heard, lifting her heavy head to look at the doorway. Darred was watching her, and then he approached slowly, gliding like a ghost through the terrible silence. In her memory, he was walking with Pooja in hand, both of them laughing, and then he slung her up onto his shoulders…yet she was not here. Was he even here? Was she literally being driven crazy?

"Sola," he said again, sitting down next to her and setting his hands on her shoulders. But she could still feel his body against hers as he, too, shook with silent sobs.

"It's not your night to watch Ryoo." The words dumbly escaped her lips, because if he was a figment of her imagination, she didn't want him to be here, and if he was real, she couldn't stand to carry out the conversation that she was knew was coming. This happened every night; even though they had set up a rotation for watching over their daughter, even though they had hired professional bodyguards to protect her, both parents always ended up in Ryoo's room by the time that morning rose. And putting aside the thought of sleep—sleep they hadn't had since before Pooja's assassination—they would carry out a quiet conversation about anything _other_ than their littlest daughter, which of course meant that she hovered in Sola's mind for the entire night, anyway, watching her mother with those glassy, empty, _dead_ eyes. "I have to go," she heard herself saying. "She's here again…"

"Sola," Darred said. It was the only thing he _could_ say, she absently realized: his way of telling her that he needed her, needed to talk to her, needed things to be normal again. But they would never be normal—normalcy only reminded her of how screwed up her life was now—and so she ran from it, ripping away from him and tearing towards the door, stumbling through the hallways, holding her hand against the wall to oftentimes catch herself against it, whenever her stamina wore thin or she could no longer keep her balance, whenever she needed something— _anything_ —to lean against before she kept running.

And eventually she looked up, wearily, at a shadow that had been thrown across the floor in front of her, and—a shadow? Sola began to shake. A memory flashed through her mind, of a time when she was little—eleven or twelve, maybe—and she and Padmé were swimming together in the lake country. Whenever they had gone underwater, they'd attempted to talk to each other, but all that ever came out of their mouths were vague tonal pitches and bubbles. That's sort of how she felt now, like she was underwater, drowning, drowning, trying to listen to someone, understand them, but all she could hear were indistinguishable murmurs…like she was sleepwalking through a hazy version of life.

Sola made for the shadow, as if to attack it, to defend her older daughter, even though she knew she stood no chance if this really were an assassin. Her heart was pounding, but not as hard as it should have been. She was almost too tired to care, or to process to gravity of her current situation. It would just to be too exhausting to bother thinking about it…

But she was jolted out of her trance as the shadow sprung at her, and suddenly fear sunk its claws into her chest, paralyzation seizing her entire body. "Who are you?" she managed to gasp…but her lips were hardly moving. They were too numb. "Just don't…just don't hurt my daughter. I know what you're here for, but please don't hurt my daughter…"

"I'm not here to hurt anyone." The voice was strong, feminine…and familiar. Sola felt the breath knocked from her chest as the shadow came into the light, her features sharpening into focus. "Sola, you and the rest of our family are in danger. We have to go now."

But she couldn't. For a few moments, Sola couldn't do anything except stare at the woman in front of her. She hadn't seen her for over a year, since before the end of the Clone Wars—and yet here she was. Standing before her in her greatest time of need, her fingernails slicing into Sola's shoulder blades, her dark eyes wide and intense and beautiful. "Padmé," Sola whispered, a single tear tracing a winding path down her cheek, and then she threw herself into her younger sister's arms, her body already heaving with grateful sobs.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, everyone! If you are enjoying this story, please remember to favourite, follow, and review! ;)**

 **I've got a few busy weekends coming up, so the wait for the next chapter may be slightly longer than usual...but I will try to get it up as soon as possible.** **Thanks again for all of your support so far! It means the world (or galaxy) to me. :)**

 **-Isabelle**


	16. Chapter 16

**AHHHH! It's been so long since I've posted, I know! Thank you for being so patient. I've just had the most insane month...but this weekend, I told myself, "Isabelle, if you have to lock yourself in your room all day Saturday, you _will_ get this chapter finished!"**

 **So, anyway, here it is! I think it turned out better than expected.**

 **Oh, and by the way, happy (belated) May the Fourth! I know I missed it by one day, but at least I'm posting on Revenge of the Fifth...ha, ha...not funny...okay. (That isn't my joke, anyway...but it makes for a good excuse!)**

 **Despite my lack of posting lately, I did celebrate May the Fourth! I made Death Star bath bombs, and I'm currently wearing my hair in Padmé's** **Mustafar braid. Just because, you know?**

 **Anyway, here are the responses to the reviews on the last chapter, and then I will jump right into Ch. 16. Thanks so much to anyone who has reviewed, favourited, and/or followed; it always makes my day. :) As you all know, I do not own Star Wars.**

 **NinjaGirl1117: Thank you so much!**

 **Jayfeathers Friend: You will have to wait and see. ;) Thanks for your review!**

* * *

Padmé was out of breath by the time that she reached her old bedroom. A sweet tinge of melancholy encroached on her consciousness as she flung herself past the threshold, but she shoved it aside, sprinting towards a dresser propped against the opposite wall. Her hands were trembling as she opened the top drawer, rifling through piles of silk clothing and boxes of jewelry. Eventually, at the very bottom, she found what she was looking for.

"Sola, take this." Padmé recklessly chucked one of the blasters at her older sister, who just barely caught it. The second gun—the same one she had used over a decade ago, in the Battle of Naboo—was buried beneath another silk blouse. The young empress tossed it over her shoulder. It billowed out like a balloon, drifting apathetically to the floor as she snatched up the blaster and shot over to her closet.

She had never changed clothing so quickly in her life. Less than a minute later, the bridesmaid's gown was discarded in a heap on the floor, and Padmé was clothed in a light brown tunic and much more practical pants. As she tugged back on her cloak and wrapped a holster around her waist, she sifted through the outfits she kept at the back of her closet—ones she had worn as a teenager but hadn't had the heart to get rid of in her adulthood. Now she was grateful for her sentimentalism. She snatched up the first practical outfit that looked like it would fit Ahsoka, then shoved it into a bag, swung it over her shoulder, and sprinted back out of the closet, yanking Sola down the adjacent hallway.

"Where's your daughter?" Padmé demanded. Beads of sweat were already beginning to prick her forehead, and her cheeks were flushed. "We're getting out of here now."

"This way," Sola whispered. She still hadn't asked why. She tore away from Padmé's grip and bolted down the hallway, her younger sister at her heels.

After a minute, the two women skidded to a stop in front of a doorway. Sola had to throw her weight against the nearest wall in order to steady herself. Padmé could tell she was severely lacking sleep, but that would have to be taken care of later. Right now, they just had to get off-planet, back to Alderaan or Chandrila, somewhere her allies would be waiting.

Cautiously, Padmé entered the room, her fingertips brushing her holstered blaster. A canopy bed was positioned against the opposite wall, fractures of moonlight thrown prettily across the carpet underneath. A man's figure sat on the edge, his hand resting gently on the head of a little girl. Padmé could hear Sola's footsteps against the floor as she came in after her. The man looked up slowly, as if lifting his head took significant energy. Padmé startled when they locked eyes. His were swirling with a haunted emptiness, like he had _nothing_. Running out of things to live for. He should've been startled by her presence, but he wasn't. He was too tired.

Too empty.

Sola's hand clamped around Padmé's right shoulder. "Darred, we're leaving," she said, her voice cracking on the last word. "We're in danger again… _she's_ in danger."

Padmé's brother-in-law pushed himself to his feet. He looked at the window, as if seeing nothing. Then he glanced back at his daughter, Ryoo. "Why?"

"Emperor Vader is coming for you," Padmé insisted, her voice wrought with newfound panic. She hoped that saying the emperor's name would shake Darred out of his trance. Why was he so nonchalant about this? "Ryoo's life depends on our departure. We have to go now."

Darred kept his eyes pinned on his daughter. "Padmé," he said flatly, as if only just remembering that she existed. But there was no question in his voice as to why she had come to Naboo, especially after her longterm absence. "You're here, too."

"Yes! I'm here!" She looked at Sola pleadingly. "Soon, Vader will be here, too. And if we don't hurry, he'll kill you, your daughter, your wife, my parents—"

Abruptly, she ran out of things to say. But Darred had already leaned over, gathering a sleeping Ryoo in his arms. "I'm coming," he said, as if it had been obvious the entire time.

The four of them crept through the dark hallways of Padmé's childhood home, startling every time a floorboard creaked or a vase rattled. As a little girl, the whole place had been a gleaming beacon of light, bursting with the happy memories of her parents' hugs and kisses, a symbol of the glorious days passed in innocence alongside her sister. Childish laughter, chestnut curls caught in the beaming Nabooian sunlight, smiles gracing both of their faces…now those memories drifted through the halls like ghosts, the long-lost bliss warped into a cruel affliction that gripped Padmé by her throat, kept her from breathing. The glamour all stripped away, the corpse of those once-happy days regarded in its place. Everything had attained a dark hue around the edges, which encroached on the remaining joy like one of Anakin's armies—out to find her, kidnap her, silence her. When she and the Naberries finally reached the courtyard, the vines that crawled up the walls of the house reminded Padmé only of serpents.

What was it that Anakin had said to her once? _"A serpent may shed its skin, but it is still a serpent."_ At the time, he had been talking about Rush Clovis. But she knew now that it applied to her husband, too. What a fool she had been to forget that her once-lover had also murdered Tusken Raiders, tortured Separatist prisoners, and beat Clovis to near death.

A flash of that night in her apartment came back to her, and then the morning in the treasury. Why had she been surprised to witness Anakin's violence towards Ahsoka? She had seen it all before, dating back to Shmi Skywalker's death on Tatooine, when Vader had first reared his ugly head at the Tuskens' camp. And then in her own apartment, while she watched in horror as Anakin and Clovis fought each other, begging her husband to stop…

She had almost left him then. She had told him that they needed time apart, that she didn't feel safe anymore. Why couldn't she have trusted that instinct? What in the worlds had changed her mind? Why had she ignored the fact that if he could be violent once, he could be violent again? To Ahsoka…to her family…or even to Padmé herself?

She knew it wasn't her fault. It was Anakin's fault. And yet she couldn't help but beat herself up over it, as she had since the night of Order 66. For what if she _had_ left him—?

Vaguely, she noticed that Sola was repeating her name, and her ruminations momentarily subsided. "Yes?" she said, turning to face her sister.

"What about our parents?" Sola said urgently, as if repeating it for the tenth time. Maybe she was. Padmé didn't much care.

"Ahsoka and I are coming back for them," she said, "once we deliver you and your family to the ship." Sola's eyes adopted a hazy sheen as she tried to place the name. Padmé bit her lip. "My husband's former Padawan," she provided. "The so-called Imperial princess."

A hand flew to Sola's mouth, her gaze still fastened on the stone walkway before them. "Force," she whispered, as if reminded of something. "How long were you married to him?"

"Since the beginning of the Clone Wars," Padmé mumbled, blood rushing to her cheeks.

Neither of them said anything after that.

Until, of course, Sola nearly shrieked, "What in the name of the—?"

"Shh," Padmé said, snapping instinctively into position, her finger already on the trigger of her blaster. It had been about five minutes since they had left the Naberrie household, and now they were bathed in the darkness of a nearby outdoor shopping centre. The subdued whisper of the wind wound its way through the square, fluttering Padmé's hair. Her dark eyes scanned her surroundings, seeking locations where potential attackers could be hiding. Another rustle. _There._ She slowly aimed towards a nearby alleyway, sandwiched between two boutiques.

"Sola." Padmé took a step forwards, her hands trembling. "Darred. Go."

She couldn't tell them _where_ to go, in case there really were people listening—people who might also go to that location and find Ahsoka, Luke, and Leia waiting there. But she could tell them this. "That summer, Sola, before I joined the Apprentice Legislature. You remember where we used to play together. Yes?"

The only response was the scuffle of footsteps against a sidewalk, proof of Sola and Darred's departure. Padmé's grip tightened around her blaster as she took another stride forward. The wind sung of mystery, interlaced in the night's eccentricities. A silhouette emblazoned itself in the empty space before her, blurry around the edges. She was seasoned enough not to demand knowledge of their identity. All would be revealed in time.

Instead, she took another step forwards.

So did he.

And her legs nearly buckled from beneath her, a sharp gasp the only thing to betray her shock.

* * *

The first indicator of something gone wrong was the incessant knocking that pounded from the outside of the ship. Ahsoka nearly jumped out of her skin but was quick to regain her wits, summoning her blaster with the Force. Slowly, she crept out of the room where the babies were asleep, shooting a skittish look at the chamber where she had imprisoned Atki. The pilot hadn't made any trouble since, but Ahsoka had still agreed to stay on the ship to watch Luke and Leia—until the Naberries took over and she could join Padmé on her rescue mission. Even after the story about Atki's son, Ahsoka couldn't shake the suspicion that she had made it all up on the spot in order to garner sympathy.

The young Jedi's thoughts flew through her logic as she approached the loading ramp. The source of this noise couldn't be Padmé, unless she had lost her controls to the ship. Perhaps it was her family, but then why were they not with her? Ahsoka set her back against the nearest wall, immersing herself in the Force to the best of her ability. It still did not feel quite natural, especially without Obi-Wan to guide her. Regardless, she tried to navigate the haze that flooded her mind, reaching for the intentions of the person or people outside the ship.

Obi-Wan had told her that she had always been particularly attune to other people's intentions, especially with the Force to aid her. Ahsoka supposed that, in the holo of her duel with Anakin on Mandalore, that was why she had so rapidly shot away from him, ripping herself out of his embrace. Now, as she searched her guests—she could tell there were multiple people—she could not definitively decide upon their intentions, though they had a benevolent aura. One of them was…very young. Innocent. Ahsoka pursed her lips and pushed herself off of the wall, hesitantly lowering the door to the ship.

At the bottom of the loading ramp stood a brunette woman, her hair piled elaborately on top of her head. She still wore a silk robe but clutched a blaster in her right hand. A man, also dressed in his nightclothes, stood behind her, a little girl curled against his chest. Ahsoka probed the Force and determined what she had already known: these people were Padmé's family. "Come in," she said, stepping aside. Then, as the man and his daughter passed by, her chest tightened. "Why…why is Padmé not with you?"

The brunette looked at her. "She told us to run."

"'To run'?" Ahsoka repeated. She looked back at the loading ramp, then at the Naberries. Well, at least one of them had a blaster. "Go to the room across from the double doors, and _stay_ in there. That's where Padmé's children are waiting." She expected the brunette's eyes to light up with surprise, but they remained dull. Of course. Padmé's family would have been watching the HoloNet, trying to scour every bit of information about her that they could. With a pang, Ahsoka realized that it would not have been that way for her. Anyone who had known her before the Empire's rise was now dead—well, except for Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Padmé.

Ahsoka scampered down the loading ramp, making for the darkness that stretched before her. She looked up at the sky. The stars winked and twinkled. She wanted to leap up and cup them in her palms. It occurred to her that, at least since Order 66, she had never been this free before, out on her own in the coolness of a starry night, the breeze brushing her skin, the song of the crickets like an understated yet triumphant symphony.

This was so new, so beautiful. She couldn't remember ever being completely alo—

With a _crash_ or a _boom,_ or maybe an amalgamation of the two, Ahsoka was thrown backwards by the force of the explosion, and pain slashed through her right elbow. She touched it gently but quickly removed her hand, her fingers now stained with blood. _Great._ She wiped it on her dress and pulled herself to her feet, taking off towards the source of the noise.

She arrived in a shopping centre and pulled herself against the wall of one of the boutiques, peeking out from behind it. Padmé was surrounded by a circle of Nabooian soldiers, one of whom was nearing her slowly. Ahsoka could see her hands trembling as she aimed a blaster at him. "Queen Amidala," he greeted matter-of-factly. "Empress Amidala, now."

"Captain Panaka," Padmé said. "How is Queen Apailana?"

Panaka pursed his lips together. "Unfortunately, she has been…replaced." Ahsoka winced, even though she had no idea of whom they were discussing. Padmé did, too, then quickly tried to cover by straightening her posture. "You'll find that our new queen is much more willing to do the emperor's bidding. She was the one who sent her troops to track you down—on his orders."

"That's a pity," Padmé said apathetically. "You sound saddened by the news."

Panaka's expression softened. "Apailana was a good monarch. But times change."

"Indeed," she agreed with him. "All regimes fall. Including the Galactic Empire."

The captain observed her, a calculating expression playing over his features. "The Nabooian regime never collapsed, Empress. And Apailana's fall only strengthened the Empire."

Padmé cast her gaze on a diagonal, glancing at the sidewalk. A spark snapped to life in her eyes. "Then I'll avenge her. I'll avenge her and the democracy that fell along with her—"

Ahsoka blinked, and suddenly blue blaster bolts were weaving luminous pathes across the shopping centre, the echoes of shots pelting the air. Padmé threw herself to the ground to avoid Panaka's aim, landing awkwardly on her right hip. One of the Nabooian soldiers standing behind her toppled to the ground, the blue energy flickering across her body for a moment before crackling out of existence. Another soldier lunged at Padmé, seizing her by her long hair, but she delivered a kick to his chest that sent him sprawling backwards.

Ahsoka carefully positioned herself behind the boutique, leveling her blaster at the Nabooian soldier closest to Padmé. He cried out as her second shot grazed his shoulder, whipping around to see who had hit him, but this time, she was ready. Her finger found the trigger and she pulled, closing her eyes as he crumpled to the ground. She had done this all before.

Padmé had holstered her blaster to engage Panaka in hand-to-hand combat. She grabbed onto his shoulders and drove her knee into his chest, then whipped back out her gun as he stumbled backwards. But he quickly recovered and charged at her, knocking the blaster from her hand and snatching her wrist. Ahsoka hastily threw herself around the side of the boutique, just in time to see Padmé's silhouette fall to the ground. She raised her blaster, aiming this time at Panaka, but then the breath was knocked from her chest, and her back lek seared with pain as she was shoved against the corner of a nearby building.

"…Found her!" she heard a distant voice yelling. "…Knew she couldn't have been too far away…" Then another blaster bolt sounded, and Ahsoka's head throbbed. That couldn't have been…what if that…Padmé? Her fear spiked as she felt a hand take hold of her throbbing back lek. Then the barrel of a blaster was shoved against her head.

"Don't struggle," said a male voice, as she did just that. "We're friends. You know we wouldn't hurt you nor Empress Amidala." Ahsoka looked between the two Nabooian soldiers, a man and a woman. The latter was holding the blaster to her head. The young Jedi turned back to the male soldier and spat at him, but he appeared unperturbed. "Come now, Princess. It's all right. Now, where are the emperor's children…?"

 _Ah._ So he was after Luke and Leia. It didn't come as much of a surprise; she could feel his malicious intentions roiling in the Force. _The Force._ Ahsoka stiffened her posture, recovering some of her dignity as a plan unveiled itself in her mind. "I'd die before I'd tell you," she growled, shoving him away from her with the Force. He yelped of surprise, grasping his ribs as he took shuddering breaths. Ahsoka snatched the woman's wrist and twisted it, yanking the blaster from her grip and pulling the trigger. A ring of blue energy engulfed the soldier's body, and she toppled onto her side. _A stun bolt._ Ahsoka recognized it from the holo of Mandalore. She should have known all along that they were just planning on capturing her. Anakin wouldn't let her die.

She approached the male soldier with the blaster. His eyes grew wide and his lips parted, but his entire body slackened as she fired, his protest cut short. She holstered her new blaster and bent to scoop up the old one, jogging into the square. A pressure on her chest lessened as she noticed that Padmé, who had risen to her feet, was all right, albeit in the midst of a duel with Panaka. His soldiers, however, had all been eliminated. Ahsoka and Padmé finally had their chance to take him down, rescue Jobal and Ruwee Naberrie, and escape the planet.

Suddenly, though, a black shadow edged into the atmosphere above, the roar of multiple engines slicing abruptly into the air. Ahsoka's gaze jerked upwards—and her heart stopped. She recognized this ship. In the early days after her awakening, she had followed Anakin up the loading ramp, begging him to let her come until he ordered one of his servants to escort her back to the palace. There was something about the vehicle that fascinated her, but for some reason—a reason at the time unbeknownst to her—her presence on that ship had discomforted him. Eventually, in the face of his mounting anger, she had given up on her escapades. But she had not forgotten about the ship, much less its importance.

The _Devastator_. Emperor Vader's personal Star Destroyer.

Panic gripped Ahsoka by the throat. She launched herself forward, her finger hovering above the trigger of her blaster. Padmé's foot nearly made contact with Panaka's face, but her eyes snagged on Ahsoka's and she lost her focus. Panaka caught her ankle. Padmé tried to yank away, but her balance failed her. Ahsoka pressed the trigger.

Both Padmé and Panaka collapsed. A gasp escaped Ahsoka's throat, but she steeled herself and jogged to the centre of the square. To her relief, Padmé had caught herself on her elbows, her eyes half open, nearly gasping for air. Her hair had entirely come loose from its style, long strands matted across her forehead with sweat. Ahsoka thought this must be what it looked like when someone had just escaped drowning.

She offered Padmé a hand, and the former senator took it gratefully. "I take it Sola and her family got back to the ship," she said.

"Yes," Ahsoka replied, as her gaze fell on Panaka. He was still lying on the ground, unmoving. She looked down at her gun and swallowed. "Padmé, is he—"

"Maybe it's best that we don't know," she said. Silence fizzed in the air between them. "This is war, Ahsoka. Vader's here now. We have to be off-planet before he can find us."

Ahsoka snapped back to her senses, remembering the sight of the Star Destroyer creeping along the horizon. Padmé was right. "Okay. Show me to your family's house," she said.

The wind screamed in her montrals as she and Padmé ran. A stitch in her side began to throb. The streetlights threw dim shadows across the pavement, which every once in awhile made Ahsoka jump. She could have sworn she'd seen the impression of a gun—or maybe even a person. It didn't help that a sort of anxiety was beginning to fester in her mind. Sometimes, when Ahsoka committed enough energy to focusing on it, it even began to _hurt_.

 _Ache. No, throb._ Ahsoka produced a new word every few seconds, as the sense strengthened in intensity. Eventually, she had to grasp onto Padmé's arm to alleviate the pain. "Ahsoka?" she whispered, turning her face towards hers. "Are you okay?"

"No. Something's wrong, Padmé!" An almost frenzied scream built up inside of Ahsoka as the sense in her mind began to burn. She pushed it back down. "Something's so _wrong,_ I—"

"We're almost there," Padmé said. "Can you hold on just a little bit longer?"

Ahsoka nodded. She didn't say that it wasn't just her she was worried about. There was something else. _Someone_ else. She knew it.

But she didn't say.

Padmé went first when they reached her old neighbourhood. She raced down the street, turned the corner…and then a scream crescendoed to penetrate the hush. A prickle raced down Ahsoka's spine. Black spots encroached on her vision. The sense pounded her mind as she stumbled down the street, coming to Padmé's side. She looked first at the woman next to her, at the crackling flames reflected in her eyes. Sweltering heat poured over Ahsoka's skin, yet she couldn't stop shaking. She turned to face the mansion before her, aglow with crepitating fire, bursting from the roof and walls like a monster come to devour everything in sight.

* * *

The princess screamed. Sola didn't know why, but she had always assumed that children of the Imperial royal family might behave more nicely, especially in the presence of strangers. No, not strangers…family. This was her niece, after all. She smoothed down Leia's dark hair, hoping it would be a gesture of comfort. But the girl only screamed louder.

After a few moments, her brother, Luke, joined the chorus. Sola's gaze bounced between the two of them as a memory flashed into her consciousness. She had known, from the moment she had seen her sister with Anakin Skywalker, that they had harboured feelings for one another. Before Pooja's death, she had been a romantic, inclined to notice such things. But she had also known of Skywalker's commitment to the Jedi—a commitment that would doubtless keep him from Padmé. "What is it that Jedi do, even?" she remembered asking him— _grilling_ him, really. She had wanted to see if he was worth her little sister.

"We're peacekeepers," he'd said simply. But after a little bit of prodding, she'd gotten him to elaborate. The Jedi could telekinetically lift objects or sometimes see the future through visions. Occasionally, the Force would even allow them to sense upcoming events or other people's intentions, either good or bad, which could potentially cause physical symptoms.

 _Painful_ physical symptoms.

Sola glanced back at Anakin Skywalker's screaming children, and a chill coursed down her spine. Both of them. What were the odds that _both_ of them would be screaming right now, when her sister—their _mother_ —was out doing Force knows what…?

"Darred," she said, approaching him. Her husband was on a nearby sofa, Ryoo in his lap. She had now awoken and was clinging to him worriedly, too in shock to do much more. "I love you, but I have to go—" She silenced his unspoken protest with a gentle kiss on his lips, then released him and planted another one on her daughter's forehead. "Please trust me. I'll be right back, Darred, I promise. But I—"

"Padmé told us to stay here," he reminded her urgently. "Sola—"

"I know," she said, as that unshakable instinct nudged her again. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

"Sola!" he cried, as she pulled away from him. She made the mistake of turning around and saw him setting Ryoo on the couch, stumbling after her. Sola yanked herself beyond the threshold and slammed the heel of her hand against the control panel. The door didn't lock. It didn't even close. She realized a moment too late that the panel _inside_ of the room was fried, and by then she had been swept into Darred's arms, his lips hovering near hers. "Sola, why?" he demanded, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. She couldn't reply. He brought his hand up to her hair, setting his forehead against hers. "I can't lose you, too," he said. "Stay with me, please—"

"This is for our daughter," she whispered. "You can't understand, but you have to. I must go. I don't know why, but I must." She clenched locks of his hair in between her fingers. "Padmé's children are Force-sensitive. You know this, don't you?"

She could feel him trembling beneath her touch. "What does that have to do with _anything?"_

"They are warning us," she insisted. "I will come back. But I have to go." Darred lifted his eyes to meet hers, and Sola forced herself to hold his gaze. "If you love me, you will accept this."

Tension thrummed in the space between them, until she closed the gap and touched her lips to his. After a moment of hesitation, he deepened the kiss, and she flung her arms around his neck, tears rolling down her cheeks as she dug her fingers into his hair. Yet all too soon, he was no longer against her, and she realized that he had let go. Let _her_ go. "I understand," he whispered, but he was crying, too. She reached up to wipe away his tears, and he took her wrist. "Sola," he said. "You have to come back. Or I'll break…"

"We're all broken," she said. It took everything left within her to turn away and make for the loading ramp, to plunge into the darkness before her that should have been familiar but was, somehow, newly unknown. She realized after a few paces that she didn't know where she was going, but for whatever reason, she didn't care. Did she trust in the Force to guide her? Did she believe that it could, even though she wasn't a Jedi? She wasn't sure, but she knew she was trusting something, or else she wouldn't be here. She might as well let it guide her to the end.

Sola ran her thumb along her blaster as she approached the shopping centre where she had last seen Padmé. Neither her sister nor the Togrutan girl who had run off to find her—the Princess Ahsoka—were there. Only unconscious and dead Nabooian soldiers. Her breath hitched. Had Padmé been captured? Was she hiding? Was she somewhere else altogether?

Deep voices were thrown across a nearby alleyway, and Sola startled. She thought she heard mention of the word _empress_. Maybe it was _princess_. She glanced around the square, taking in for the first time the damage wreaked by blaster bolts. War was such an ugly thing. Longingly, she remembered the days when she and Padmé had come here almost weekly. One of their favourite boutiques had been pummelled by blaster fire. The display windows were both shattered. Sola climbed in through one of them, hiding behind a rack of silk dresses.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Imperial troops pushing their way into the square. She edged away from the display windows, trying to get to the dressing rooms at the back of the store. It was difficult to do without rustling the clothing that she was using as a cover. "The Empress Amidala was here…," she heard an officer say. _Another step. Now one more. Take it easy, Sola. You'll get there, you'll get there…_

"She took down Captain Panaka, sir."

"Is he dead?"

"What does Queen Kylantha think of this?"

Eventually, Sola put enough distance between herself and the windows that the voices of the officers waned out of earshot. She gently pushed the dresses out of the way and eased herself towards the dressing rooms, but something snagged her attention. A larger-than-life poster was plastered on the wall at the back of the store. And that was her _sister_. That model was Padmé. She sat on a velvet ottoman, coral skirts rippling out around her like an ocean. Empress Amidala likes our products, so why shouldn't you?

Sola was seized by surprise for a moment, unsure what to make of it. "She's a remarkable person, isn't she?" The voice undulated through the air behind her, a baritone rumble that prickled the hairs on Sola's arms. "Padmé Amidala. Aren't I lucky that she's my wife."

Sola felt her mouth move, but no sound escaped. She turned around to see a looming, masked figure before her, blocking her path. A sense of claustrophobia erupted inside of her as she realized that she was cornered. By the _emperor_. Emperor Vader. Her brother-in-law.

"You don't deserve her." There. That was what she had wanted to say. What she had tried to say earlier. "I thought you did at first, but I was wrong."

"I want her back," Vader said flatly. He wasn't bothered in the slightest by her disapproval. "I know you have been in contact with her, and I want you to tell me where she is."

The emperor raised his hand, tightening it into a fist. Sola felt an invisible force— _the_ Force—tighten around her neck, and then she was clutching at her throat, scratching at it, her feet hovering above the ground. Black blobs engulfed her vision. Her ears seared with a relentless ringing as a beam of red light snapped into her vision, and a new kind of panic made itself known to her. "Or else," Vader growled, brandishing his blade, "you will die."

* * *

Padmé screamed for her parents until her throat was dry. She threw her whole self forward, as if they would appear in the windows above her and she could catch them and carry them to safety. As if they could forever escape her husband and this new hell of a galaxy, which was finally flashing before her eyes in a wild, flaming horror that she could no longer ignore. She had to force herself to repeat it: _This is real, this is real, this is real._

It refused to become real. It would not. She was still muttering the words—no, screaming them—as Ahsoka grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her away.

Darkness overwhelmed her, and then she was coming to, peering through her fluttering eyelashes at the treetops above her. It dawned on her that she had passed out. Dizzily, Padmé propped herself on her elbows, her head spinning as she tried to determine where—and _when_ —she was. Tendrils of rosy light were beginning to weave along the horizon. "Padmé," said Ahsoka's voice. She turned to look at the girl, and guilt instantly spiked through her chest. How long had she left her alone? "I don't want to rush you, Padmé, but we have to go…"

"I know," Padmé whispered. Her voice was hoarse. She laced her arm around Ahsoka's shoulders, who helped her up. "Just tell me, it…it's real?"

Ahsoka's gaze dropped. "Yes…it…it is, yes. Like you kept saying, over and over."

Padmé's legs felt weak, but she held herself upright. _You will survive,_ she said, trying to ignore the pressure building behind her eyes. It was what she had told herself since the night of Order 66. No reason it should be any different now. "Who did this? Do we know?"

Ahsoka shrugged. "Who do you think? Imperials, probably." Then her nonchalance ebbed, and she turned to meet Padmé's eyes. "Padmé, I…I'm so sorry, we couldn't…"

"It's not your fault. We never stood a chance. We should have gone to Alderaan."

"No. We can still save your sister." When Padmé didn't respond, Ahsoka tried again. "And your niece. And your brother-in-law—"

"Pooja _and_ my parents," Padmé cut her off, as rage sunk its talons deep into her chest. "Pooja _and_ my parents. When will he be happy—?"

"Padmé, we should go—"

"Pooja _and_ my parents—"

"Padmé!"

"Pooja and—and at Varykino, he—and—" Suddenly, Padmé was grasping for sanity. The image of her wedding day was blurry, distorted. Anakin's metal hand clenched around hers, biting into her skin. When she kissed him, his lips tasted stale. She screamed as she remembered his vows, all lies—ugly, glaring lies—and she pulled away from Ahsoka and clapped her hands over her ears. "I swear to the Force I'm going to kill him!"

The echo of her words spun around her, their weight finally sinking in. But she still had no desire to take them back. This— _this_ was the last straw. Anakin could target her—he could shatter her heart and rob her of her career, her _purpose_ —but he could not target her family. She would come back from this, stronger. And this time, she would win. She would bring his Empire crashing down around him, and if he tried to stop her, she would drag him down with her.

 _Husband and wife, Anakin. Until death do us part._

"We're going back to the ship, Ahsoka," she said. To her surprise, the girl was not gaping at her or even staring as intensely as if Padmé were crazy. There was a ferocity in her eyes that lent the former senator some sort of comfort. She agreed. Ahsoka agreed with her.

They made it back to Atki's ship after about ten minutes. Padmé was pleased to see that it, at least, was still intact. She threw herself up the loading ramp, Ahsoka at her heels, and made for the cockpit, but she was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. _Darred._

"Where's Sola?" he said.

* * *

 **I think next time will be another late update...I'm sorry, everyone! After that, I should be able to post more frequently. But this was a long chapter, so hopefully it will be enough to hold you over for awhile.**

 **I hope you enjoyed! Please favourite, follow, and review! :)**

 **-Isabelle**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey, everyone! I know, I know, it's been awhile. But I'm back now! :)**

 **By the way, did any of you see _Solo_? Wasn't it fantastic? I absolutely loved it!**

 **Thanks to PrincessNaina for your review. I'm glad to hear that! :)**

 **Enjoy the chapter, and please remember to favourite, follow, and review!**

* * *

A thousand needles stabbed at Sola, from both the inside and out. She twisted her body in agony and they all came down upon her. A scream tore from her throat. Her nails scratched against the hardwood as she sought something to clutch, as if that could keep her rooted in this galaxy. She thought of Darred, Padmé, Ryoo, her parents—they would wonder—

The sound of a ringing bell pounded inside Sola's skull. And then she was swept into someone's arms. "No…," she whimpered. "No…" She didn't know why.

A sprinkling of tears dropped onto Sola's cheeks from above. Somebody screamed her name, shook her by the shoulders. Another bout of agony shot through her, and Sola yelped. "Stay with me, stay with me," the woman's voice repeated frantically. "Force, I can't lose you, too!"

Sola's eyes fluttered open as she registered the voice. "Pa—Pa—Padmé?" she coughed.

"Yeah, it's me." Padmé gently brushed some hair out of her eyes. A few more of her tears fell onto Sola's forehead. "But don't worry, I've got you—we're going to get you to—"

"Wh—where?" Sola challenged her. "We—we're basi—basically criminals, and—and we won't—won't be a—able to—"

"Don't talk like that," Padmé chided her softly, but Sola could feel her shaking. "The galaxy isn't so cruel that it would let me lose all of you…"

"All o—of us?" Sola repeated, and the colour drained from Padmé's face. "My—no—my daughter—te—tell me, i—is she—"

"She's fine," Padmé insisted. A nervous laugh sounded in her throat. "I'm going to bring you back to her, Sola, I promise, but you have to stay with me—"

"Padmé. Th—there's no time. He—he w—was here."

Her sister froze, her dark eyes searing into Sola's. "He?"

The older girl nodded, trying to sit up a little more. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the Princess Ahsoka, standing a little ways behind Padmé, holding her wrist uncomfortably. "The em—emperor. Vader. He—he wanted you, a—and her." She lifted a shaking finger to point at the princess, who looked unsurprised. "He—he left me for dead, b—but he's still o—on Naboo, a—and you have to g—get off—"

"Not without you," Padmé pressed, trying to lift Sola into her arms. She blew out some air at the effort. "Ahsoka, come over here and help me—"

"P—Padmé, no! I'm dy-dyin'…" As if to prove it, a violent cough wracked Sola's frame, and she clutched onto Padmé's shoulders for support. "You c—can't—"

"Save you?" Padmé finished for her. They had done that all the time when they were little—finished each other's sentences. Padmé was obviously thinking the same thing; a single sob shook her shoulders, and a flood of tears gushed down her cheeks. "Sola, no. I have to—"

"But you already have saved me," Sola whispered, trying to reach up to grasp her sister's hand. She soaked in the image, fed on it, as if it could fuel her life for just a little longer. Padmé's long, dark hair, the normally curly texture now stringy, the tips brushing against Sola's cheeks as her sister leaned down towards her, cupping her head in one hand. The sparkling of tears in her eyes, weaving rivulets down her cheeks. The way her lips parted, almost in slow motion, as if to release a silent scream, one Sola could not hear, but she could feel the shuddering effect, feel it rattle her bones. "After P—Pooja's death, I thought—I thought my life w—was over. B—but you—you gave me something to—to fight for again—you reminded me that I—"

That was all she managed to get out before another cough shook her frame, and she felt a strange, almost tempting pull from some outside force. Her muscles weakened, her vision faded. And _now_ she heard Padmé screaming, pulling at her, trying to drag her back to life, as if the world around her had jerked back into its normal speed. "Sola, I love you, I— _Sola!"_ She knew her heart should be breaking—it was—yet everything was numb and surreal, and it was almost as if she could press an "undo" button and then everything would somehow be right.

Almost.

Because the illusion shattered as her sister, the strongest person she had ever known, the woman who had led the Battle of Naboo and the campaign to end the Clone Wars, dissolved into tears, and that was the last thing Sola Naberrie ever heard.

* * *

"Well, this feels rather familiar, doesn't it?"

Obi-Wan's lips quirked into a smile. He knew he was right. During the Clone Wars, he had been captured and imprisoned countless times. Luckily, he had only to await the sight of Anakin's silhouette in the doorway of his cell; his former Padawan had always come to rescue him. The reverse, of course, had happened quite often as well—possibly even more frequently, if Obi-Wan did say so himself—but that was beside the point.

Anakin had not come to rescue him this time. In fact, in this instance, Anakin was his captor. But that didn't mean he had to act like it. Obi-Wan had known this moment would come, and he had prepared for it adequately. As soon as Ahsoka revealed her new skills to the emperor, after all, it was inevitable that his suspicions would fall to the only other Jedi left on Coruscant.

Anakin's golden eyes gleamed against the shadows that danced upon his face. He clasped his hands behind his back and took a few large strides towards Obi-Wan. "Your attempts to hide your secret meetings with the Princess Ahsoka were most impressive," he declared. "But I was not fooled. I know that you trained her."

"Quite brilliant," Obi-Wan remarked. "I'm sure it was especially difficult to decide who must have done so when there are only a handful of Jedi left in the galaxy."

"So you willingly admit to treason," Anakin growled.

"Treason!" Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "How is it treason? Your regime is illegitimate. And the very fact that I am a Jedi is in and of itself a death sentence. Technically speaking, I shouldn't even be alive right now."

"I could kill you."

"You could. Maybe you even should. But you won't."

Anakin lunged towards him, seizing him by his hair. Yellow flames smoldered in his eyes. For just an instant, Obi-Wan's heart clenched. "I want to know why you trained her," his former apprentice snarled. "You're jealous, aren't you? You wanted to use her to overthrow me."

Obi-Wan just raised an eyebrow. He was tempted to say that _Ahsoka_ was the one who had initially wanted to dethrone Anakin, not him. But that might put her in even more danger. He still wasn't sure if she and Padmé had been able to escape or not.

"You radicalized her," Anakin continued to rant. "You broke her trust in me—"

"You did all of that yourself," Obi-Wan replied calmly. "But I'll give you a hint. She didn't appreciate that you broke into her mind and erased all of her memories. She also didn't like it when you lied to her, hit her, forced her into marriage…shall I continue?"

Anakin released Obi-Wan as though he were poisonous, shoving him against the wall. "I did it to protect her," he declared. "She's too reckless for her own good. I knew she'd get herself into trouble if she could remember her days as a Jedi." Then, unexpectedly, he seized Obi-Wan by his collar. "I made a promise to her in that Coruscanti prison, before she disappeared into the underworld—said I'd never let anyone hurt her. I meant to keep it. If she'd just done what I'd told her, she would've been safe. Nobody would have ever harmed her again—"

"Except for you," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin faltered. Then the fire snapped back into his eyes. "This wasn't my first option," he said. "I tried to make things like before. I tried to make her my apprentice."

"And when she refused, you kidnapped and tortured her. How selfless and protective of you."

A feral growl rose in Anakin's throat. "I was not the one who left her at the mercy of the Senate. I was not the one who left her to die because Yoda and Mace Windu thought it was okay!"

Obi-Wan reeled back, struck by the anger in Anakin's words. His heart sank as a memory of Ahsoka's preliminary trial passed through his mind. The tears in her eyes as they'd pronounced that she was no longer a Jedi; the ashamed way she'd dipped her head as her Padawan braid was ripped away. _"This trial is just formality!"_ The tense silence that had hovered between him and Anakin, weeks after those events had transpired.

Selfishly, when Ahsoka had told him, her voice quivering with shame, that she could not remember anything of her time as a Jedi, the first thing he had thought was that this meant she did not know about his betrayal. And he had been almost…well, _relieved_. "Is that what this is all about?" he said gently. "Ahsoka's trial?"

Anakin's posture stiffened, as if he'd fully realized what they were talking about. Not only a reminder of his most arduous times, but an acknowledgement of his past as a Jedi. "That _trial_ never happened," he hissed, quietly, dangerously, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a fight. "I want you to tell me one thing, Kenobi. Where are they?"

Obi-Wan's eyebrows flew up to his hairline, both in response to Anakin's absurb question and the confirmation that Ahsoka and Padmé had escaped. "Where are they? Where _are_ they? You think that I'm still in contact with Ahsoka? How would I be? You've cut me off from any communcations with the outside worlds—"

"Did she mention anywhere she'd want to go?"

"Why would she? _How_ would she? You've erased her memories of everything, Anakin!"

"Don't! Call me that. I am now the Emperor Vader, feared throughout the galaxy, and you will—"

"Feared?" Obi-Wan let a derisive chuckle rise up in his throat. "You are obviously not so feared if you are already incapable of preventing rebellion. And how long has it been since you took power, my young Padawan? A few months, perhaps?"

"I think the time you've spent rotting in a prison cell has interfered with your common sense." Anakin had begun to pace around the cell, frequently shooting Obi-Wan threatening glares. "As well as your sense of time. And perhaps your sanity." His lips parted into a nefarious grin. "Where is your reputation now, General Kenobi? How has the famous Negotiator fared under this new regime? As I reign over the entire galaxy, where has your precious Jedi Code gotten you?" When Obi-Wan didn't respond, Anakin decided he would be so kind as to provide the answer for him. "A cramped, repulsive prison cell, buried deep underneath _my_ Imperial palace."

"And yet you lack the very things you valued most at your peak." Obi-Wan dropped his head, unable to look at this stranger before him, the young man whom he had trained yet had been irreparably twisted. "Where is your Padawan now, Anakin? Where is your wife? You have lost them both, thanks to your cruelty and your hunger for power." Then he flicked his eyes upwards, his lips curved by hollow victory. "You had to brainwash Ahsoka to get her to stay with you in the first place, and as soon as she found out about your dishonesty—"

"Shut up, old man," Anakin growled. "You know nothing of this."

"Don't I?" Obi-Wan challenged him in a whisper.

A heavy silence threaded itself through the air between them. "I will be back in twenty-four hours," Anakin said at last, "and if you don't have answers for me, your foolish decision will have severe consequences. Not only for yourself, but for Ahsoka, as well."

A wry smile graced Obi-Wan's lips. "How can there be severe consequences for Ahsoka," he said, "if you can't even find her?"

Anakin just looked at him for a moment. Then he threw his head back and laughed, the sound richocheting eerily around the small cell. "You think you're my only chance at finding her?" he said. "You think I haven't already singled out others who were conspiring with her—conspiring with you?" Obi-Wan bit his cheek as his former Padawan took a step towards him. "Don't worry. Ahsoka will be found. Not everyone can hold out for as long as you can, Kenobi. If you won't give me the answers I want, then somebody else will."

* * *

Ahsoka waited outside of the door to the cockpit, as expectantly as if she hadn't been there for fifteen minutes. Strange flickers of hope roiled inside of her—that Padmé would open the door, that Padmé would _not_ open the door, that Padmé would shrug it off and be fine, that Padmé would grieve as a normal human being should. Ahsoka let her fist fall against the door pathetically. The echo sounded as if it came from halfway across the galaxy. She couldn't really understand the permanent loss of a family. Anakin had stolen the memories of when hers had died. But then she thought of leaving Lahnya, Sabé, and Obi-Wan at the palace, and maybe it was something like that. No. Not like that. That wasn't permanent enough.

How would it feel to have someone she loved go cold in her arms?

The door whisked open, and Ahsoka startled, her head snapping up almost instantly. Padmé hovered before her like a ghost, her eyes bloodshot. Then, hesitantly, she leaned her weight against the threshold, as if expecting it to disappear. "Ahsoka?"

Ahsoka swallowed hard. She realized that she had nothing to say. "I'm sorry, Padmé."

"Don't be sorry for something that isn't your fault."

Ahsoka rubbed the silk of her dress between her thumb and forefinger. Up until now, Padmé had only said one thing to her, a strangely random remark immediately after Sola's death on how she was sorry Ahsoka still had to wear _that,_ how she had brought her a new outfit to wear but had lost it during her duel against Panaka. As if that were the most horrific loss of the battle. The worst thing was, though, that Padmé had been shaking with thrilling laughter the whole time, her eyes glittering with traces of insanity. Rubbing her arms as if to ward off the cold, despite the sticky warmth that permeated Atki's ship.

She seemed all right now. Like she had come to her senses. But Ahsoka still almost shuddered at the memory. "Are you…okay?" She had to choose her words carefully.

Padmé surprised her by pulling her into a hug, kissing her between her montrals like Anakin never had. Like an older sister would. "I will be," she said quietly.

By the time that they arrived on Alderaan, though, Ahsoka already felt weighed down by grief, like a sponge that had absorbed too much water. Saturated with it, the sensation welling up in her lungs, blocking her breaths. Memories of the robotic nonchalance that swept over Darred's and Padmé's features; memories of the grief-striken screams that ricocheted throughout the ship, forcing Ahsoka to flee as best she could, comforting a crying Luke or Leia or even Ryoo; memories of her reflection staring back at her in Sola's glassy eyes, Padmé struggling to close them because her hands were shaking so badly. This was death. This was what she had dealt with every day at fourteen years old. And now she was eighteen and she had no clue. What she would give to remember how to do it.

Padmé nestled the ship within one of the most mountainous regions of the planet, leaving Ahsoka firm instructions to stay put, keep an eye on Darred and the children, and remember that Atki was still on board and could not be trusted. Ahsoka did as she was told, even though the hours of Padmé's absence ticked away slowly, painfully, until the wait time had stretched into over half a day and Ahsoka's heart rate had sped into a flurry of anticipation. At last, she fell blissfully into sleep with little Leia against her chest, one of the girl's tiny hands wrapped around the tip of her right lek. And then she woke again, blinking open her crusty eyes to see Padmé standing before her. It crossed her mind that Sola would never again be able to do the same.

Hardly a second later, Bail Organa materialized out of nowhere, and Ahsoka blinked twice, realizing that Padmé had left them for almost a day only to bring him back here. "Hello, Padawan Tano," he said, a gentle smile curving his lips. Padmé said nothing. She took her sleeping baby from Ahsoka's arms and offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet.

"Hello, Senator," Ahsoka said uncertainly. The world was still a bit hazy, distorted by a tug-of-war between dreams and reality.

In her slumber, she had seen a cold planet. Snow, something she could not remember ever encountering in person, had dusted her nose, cheeks, and lekku. She had caught sight of her reflection in the ice—a younger version of herself, she was somehow sure—and her duplicate had screamed for her attention, banging her fist against her glittering prison. Ahsoka had startled, ran, as the plot of her dream continued to unfurl. But now, all she could remember from that point on was an eerie song, sailing past her on the wind.

"We have apprehended a prisoner," Padmé was saying, rocking Leia absentmindedly. "She tried to sell us out to Vader. What do you want us to do with her?"

"We'll hold her at the palace," Senator Organa said. His eyes travelled briefly to Ahsoka. She heard herself offering to escort Atki out of her prison, and as soon as Padmé approved, she turned on her heel and jogged in the pilot's direction. It was unnecessary, but Ahsoka suddenly couldn't fight the inexplicable craving to move her legs.

When she opened the door to Atki's room, the pilot already had her gaze fastened intently on Ahsoka, idly twirling the engagement ring around her fingers. The young Jedi mustered up as much confidence as she could and marched inside, taking Atki's wrists and forcing them behind her back. "Come on," she said, pulling the pilot to her feet. "We're leaving."

Atki didn't fight her. In fact, the corners of her lips curled upwards. "Calm down, little princess."

Ahsoka bristled. She wasn't _that_ little—well, she wasn't much littler than Padmé, anyway, though that probably wasn't saying much—and she certainly was not a princess. She pursed her lips together and shoved Atki out of the ship. A fairly large, covered speeder was waiting at the foot of the loading ramp. Padmé and Senator Organa each held one of the babies, simultaneously trying to help Darred and Ryoo inside.

"I'll take her, Ahsoka," Padmé said, once she caught sight of Atki. She retrieved a pair of binders from Senator Organa and snapped them around the pilot's wrists, handing Leia off to Ahsoka as she yanked Atki into the middle row of the speeder. Ahsoka took Luke from Senator Organa and slipped solemnly into the front passenger's seat. The viceroy powered on the speeder and took the handlebars, and Ahsoka gripped the infants a little tighter as they sped off.

Dawn glimmered on the horizon, tossing rosy and orange light delicately upon their surroundings. Once the mountains grew smaller, the icecaps looked even more magnificent, like glittering, jeweled crowns caught in the light of a crystal chandelier. Ahsoka thought of the treasury again, and of the awe that had initially filled her upon seeing all of those jewels collected in one place.

Then she caught sight of the Alderaanian palace. It grew larger before her eyes as the speeder shot in its direction, lending architectural features such as balconies and turrets increasing definition. The mountainous terrain completely dissolved into grassy flatlands, the topography now scattered across the rosily lit sky like a backdrop. The sunrise shimmered prettily in a lake that stretched before the palace. Bail Organa veered the handlebars to the right, directing the speeder behind the edifice and through a discreetly placed entryway at the very back.

Given the fact that they were entering into an ostensibly isolated part of the palace, Ahsoka assumed the premise would be devoid of other people. To her surprise, there were at least a dozen others waiting for them—doctors, nurses, palace staffers, soldiers, others she did not recognize. There were even some droids, scattered here and there. That threw Ahsoka a little off guard. She _knew_ of droids, of course, but Anakin had hardly ever used them. He preferred to exercise his power over living, breathing people—whomever he thought he could hurt the most.

Ahsoka swung open the door and set foot outside of the speeder. Almost instantly, Luke and Leia were whisked out of her arms by two nurses, and she was guided over to a human doctor who immediately began checking her for injuries. "Empress Amidala informed me earlier that you participated in a duel against the emperor, as well as the Battle of Na—Oh my word." She had noticed a tiny glass shard that was still imbedded in Ahsoka's skin, left over from her collision with the mirror in the dressing room. The doctor removed a pair of tweezers from her belt and pulled it out as gently as she could. Ahsoka still winced. "Have you experienced any headaches, loss of concentration, dizziness, nausea, fatigue? And if so, did you suffer from a head injury during any of the battles?"

Ahsoka furrowed her brow, remembering when Anakin had slammed her down against the surface of the vanity. Then she recalled the Nabooian soldier grabbing her by the shoulders and throwing her roughly against a nearby wall. She hovered a hand near her lekku, which were still mildly sensitive. "Yes," she said, subsequently describing both of the incidents to the doctor. Then she added, "I've experienced some headaches, nausea, and fatigue since, but couldn't that be just a normal reaction to all of the fighting?"

"Possibly. But it's more probable that you have a mild concussion." The doctor pulled a notepad from the left side of her belt, flipping it open and frantically scrawling something down as if she might otherwise forget. "I'll give you a test to see and then—"

They were interrupted by a high-pitched _beeep_ as something heavy rammed into Ahsoka's legs from behind. She turned around to see a blue and white astromech droid, rolling back and forth almost expectantly. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought it almost sounded _excited,_ but she still couldn't tell exactly what it was trying to say.

"I—hello?" Ahsoka guessed. The droid froze, its high-pitched squeals plummeting into an almost sorrowful moan. Her heart clenched. What was she doing wrong?

"He's trying to greet you, Ahsoka." The young Jedi looked up to see Padmé striding towards her, freed from the burden of having to restrain Atki. Ahsoka flicked her eyes upwards to see that two of the soldiers had already taken the pilot and were escorting her out of the room. "He says that he's missed you, and it's nice to see you again."

 _Oh._ Now Ahsoka's heart plummeted. This droid had known her during the Clone Wars and expected her to remember it—er, _him_. The astromech whirred in confusion, wheeling around to face Padmé. "She doesn't remember, Artoo," the former senator said gently. "No, she can't understand you. Ana—Vader—did some…some terrible things to her." Her gaze lifted to meet Ahsoka's, whose lekku were already burning. The droid—Artoo—beeped softly, bumping against Padmé's legs. "Yes," she said. "That's right. He did."

Artoo emitted a low, sad-sounding _booop_. Padmé smiled wryly. "I'll be okay," she said. Then she kneeled down to wrap her arms around the astromech's dome, as if to give him a hug. Ahsoka felt a gentle smile curve her lips, as well. "Thank you for asking."

Bail Organa approached them, his cape fluttering regally in an artificial breeze. "Padmé," he said, "we should move further inside. We'll get you and the rest of your associates settled, and then there are some people who would like to meet you and Padawan Tano."

Padmé stood up, patting Artoo's dome. "Of course," she said. Then she glanced over her shoulder. "Ahsoka?"

"I'm coming," she said absentmindedly. She was just starting to consciously realize that Senator Organa had begun calling her "Padawan Tano". But Padawan to whom? Anakin? Obi-Wan? Anakin had abandoned her, and she had abandoned Obi-Wan.

Ahsoka felt guilt spike through her chest as she followed Padmé, Artoo, and the senator farther into the palace, past gleaming marble columns and tall, glass windows. She caught sight of her reflection for an instant but saw something else: a slightly younger girl clutching oversized brown robes around her, aquamarine eyes flashing with the determination of a Jedi Padawan. That was what she liked to imagine she had been like, as Anakin's apprentice. But then the image faded, and Ahsoka found herself staring blankly beyond the glass, blinking at perfectly preened rose gardens. She didn't come back to her wits until Padmé called her name a few times, and then she ripped her eyes away and jogged after the former senator.

* * *

"Now that Vader's encountered rebellion within his own walls, it's likely that his paranoia will increase and, consequently, ours will have to, as well. But his desperation to find Senator Amidala and Padawan Tano might work in our favour. If he is distracted by his search, his preoccupation should eventually open up the perfect chance for us to strike hard when he least expects it." Mon Mothma looked around the circle of people collected in Bail Organa's office: Breha, Artoo, Ahsoka, a few Chandrilan rebels who had escaped from their planet and been offered asylum on Alderaan, Bail himself, and, finally, Padmé.

The brunette nodded at Mon and shifted her gaze to Ahsoka. She had been diagnosed with a mild concussion and a few minor physical injuries, but the doctor had permitted her to come to this meeting as long as she rested afterwards. She did look much better after having showered and changed out of that horrible bridal gown. Her new outfit had been provided by the Organas and, though still luxurious, was considerably more practical: a silk, cream-coloured tunic paired with matching espadrilles, brown leggings, and a woven belt tied around her waist. Ahsoka had attached a holster to the left side of the belt, as well, where she stored her blaster.

"As such, we need someone to act as a force of unity amongst us and lead us in said attack. Or, in simpler terms, someone to serve as the leader of the Rebellion." Mon's eyes travelled back to Padmé, as did those of Bail, Breha, and the Chandrilan rebels. Even Artoo wheeled around to face her. "We have unanimously decided that this position should be filled by General Amidala."

There was a moment of silence. "G—General?" Padmé finally sputtered, clutching her sides. Then she remembered how this must appear and straightened her posture. "I mean, I—I'm very honoured, of course, but…what makes you think that I have the experience to be a general?"

"You don't," Bail said, smiling wryly. "But you have more than any of us do—excluding Padawan Tano, of course, who…does not remember her experience." He glanced at Ahsoka apologetically, but she nodded that it was okay. Bail turned back to Padmé and began to count off her accomplishments on his fingers. "You single-handedly led the Battle of Naboo as a fourteen-year-old queen, fended off various assassination attempts, took part in the First Battle of Geonosis, played a role in the destruction of the _Malevolence_ , thwarted the plot to release the Blue Shadow Virus on Naboo, and helped Duchess Satine Kryze to rid the Mandalorian government of corruption, among other things. That's not even to mention your vast political experience, which would of course qualify you to serve as the leader of the Rebellion."

"I don't know what to say." Padmé felt like, for the first time since Sola's death, she was aglow. She glanced at her comrades as her lips parted into a smile. "But of course I accept." It seemed almost surreal to think that a year ago, she had been the politician, her husband the general. Now their roles were reversed, and, to make matters worse, they would be at each other's throats this time. At least she had more experience in battle than Anakin did in politics.

That last thought bolstered her courage. Padmé stood a little taller, hands held firmly at her sides, and turned her head to address everyone in the room. "I can't promise this will be in any way easy. Vader is a formidable opponent, and he never stops until he gets what he wants. But I _can_ promise you all this: we will fight tooth and nail, and when we prevail, we will bring Vader to his knees and obliterate his oppressive regime—once and for all."

* * *

A cacophony of voices, swooping into a clean crescendo. Concrete walls shooting up around her, closing in, crushing her, grey like thunderstorms. Faces suspended dozens of stories above the ground, almost separate from the people they should belong to. Maybe she really hadn't been betrayed, and they all _looked_ like the people who had rescued her and loved her and protected her for so many years, but they weren't, really. Maybe she was actually surrounded by clones. She had always been surrounded by clones. She too was a clone, swapped in to be blamed for somebody else's crimes, because what was the difference? One teenage girl for another. One _Jedi_ for another. Nobody cared when there were ten thousand of them, when the public and the Senate were scared and there _had_ to be a scapegoat. And despite the fact that she had tried so hard to differentiate herself, to be special, she wasn't. She was disposable.

Ahsoka had never felt so small.

A human man to her left was glaring at her disdainfully. He had high cheekbones and thin lips, and his head was covered with grey hairs, which Ahsoka knew was a telltale sign of older age for a human. Two men came up to Ahsoka from behind and took her upper arms. Her heart still wouldn't stop pounding, and she jumped. She almost yelped, too, but thank the Force she did not. The men were surprisingly gentle as they led Ahsoka out of that room, and the dissonance of voices slid back down into a decrescendo, and it occurred to Ahsoka for the first time that she could not remember how she'd gotten here. She reached out for the memories but came up blank. This was not what she had been doing just a few moments ago…she had been somewhere else entirely, but…but where had she been?

She was seized by a pulsing sense of horror as something else came to her. Those thoughts she had just had…those were not actually hers. She did not even know what was going on. How would she have decided that she had been switched out for another teenage girl? What did that even mean, "switched out"? And she had not recognized those staring faces, had not been able to match them to names. So how had she known those people were supposed to love her?

The chains fell from her wrists, and all of a sudden, she was pulled against someone else, only this time into a bone-crushing embrace. She awkwardly slipped her arms around his waist, resting her forehead against his chest. There was pressure building behind her eyes, like she was about to cry, only she bit her lip to fight back the tears because she wanted to look strong. "Ahsoka…Ahsoka…oh, Force, Ahsoka…" The man kept saying that, his fingertips running repeatedly over her lekku, as if to make sure she was still there.

Finally, he pulled away from her, his hands slipping down to settle on her shoulders, and her heart skipped a beat. _Anakin._ Yet she soon realized that she was not afraid. He stood before her, terrified and vulnerable and larger than life and _good_. She knew of his goodness with an almost jarring certainty, the same way she knew her own name.

"Are you okay, Snips?" he asked her, trying to laugh, even though she could clearly see the tears glistening in his eyes. Ahsoka parted her lips slightly but did not respond. Her mouth tasted terrible, like she had just woken up.

Anakin forced out another laugh, which somehow plunged Ahsoka into an even further depression. "Everything's going to go back to normal," he told her, and it sounded like a false promise. Like a pretty little lie told to appease a young child. The worst part was that he seemed to believe it. "Your name's been cleared now. It'll all be fine. _You're_ fine, Ahsoka. Please don't look so panicked. We can get past this, right?" He took her hands and gripped them hard, obviously desperate for her to say "yes".

Ahsoka pursed her lips together. Tears were still threatening. "I don't think…," she started, but stopped when she noticed that she was shaking. She pulled her hands from Anakin's and rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself up.

"Give her a moment to breathe, Anakin." Ahsoka turned around, surprised by the addition of a voice to the conversation, and her gaze snagged on…Padmé.

Ahsoka stumbled away from Anakin as it all poured back into her, a rush of emotions and memories from her current life that left her a little bit dizzy. The reason why those thoughts had not been hers, or why she had had to somehow justify _not_ being afraid of Anakin, as if it weren't already a given. She had just been in Bail Organa's office when Padmé was promoted to general and leader of the Rebellion. And now she was…now she was _here?_ Presumably…this was back in time? So what was she doing here? Was this a vision? She held a hand to her forehead, trying to calm herself down. _This was okay. She was okay._

"Ahsoka?" She felt Padmé's hands on her shoulders. _Vision_ Padmé.

"I just, I…I need to sit down…"

"Okay. _Okay."_ Padmé guided her over to a nearby bench, setting a hand on Ahsoka's back and rubbing it gently. Ahsoka propped her elbows on her knees and covered her mouth, wondering if she might be about to throw up. She flicked her eyes upwards and saw that the men who had escorted her into this room—men in _white armour,_ she now realized with a jolt of discomfort—were staring. Padmé's eyes narrowed into a glare. "Can't you give us just _one_ moment alone? Haven't you put her through enough already?"

"Padmé, it's fine," Ahsoka heard herself say. But the men still hesitated to remain in the room, nodding at each other as if Padmé's outburst made perfect sense. "Yes, Senator," one of them said, and then they turned and filed out in unison. Ahsoka looked back down at the ground as if it were the most fascinating thing in the worlds, pushing both hands against her mouth and holding her breath. Anakin came over and sat to her right. She could feel him watching her. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She blinked to get rid of the rest of them.

"Ahsoka, it's okay," he said quietly. "You're safe now. Don't you believe me?"

She put her hands in her lap and let herself breathe, slowly lifting her head to look at him. His eyes shimmered with a sort of vulnerability and brokenness that made her want to comfort him, despite all of the pain he would cause her in the future.

But she never got the chance, because suddenly the world was folding in on itself, collapsing heavily around her, and Padmé and Anakin were nowhere in sight. Ahsoka turned in circles, watching as everything was swept away, like chalk on the blackboards that her royal tutors had once used. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Everything a gleaming white. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she was lying on a soft bed in the Alderaanian palace, the last pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place.

Right. _Right._ Bail Organa had given her and Padmé a suite to share in the hidden wing of the palace. Ryoo and Darred were right next door. Ahsoka took a deep breath, lifting herself onto her elbows and refamiliarizing herself with her surroundings. There were no windows, obviously, given that the secret wing of the palace was deep underground, but Ahsoka did have a chrono on her bedside table. She checked it and saw that it was mid-afternoon. Her doctor had assigned her bedrest, and though Ahsoka had not been planning on actually sleeping, it turned out she had inadvertently drifted into slumber anyway. She kicked her legs over the side of the bed and glanced over at Padmé's half of the room, but it was empty.

The images of her vision still swam vividly through her memory, particularly the way Padmé had guided her over to the bench and snapped at those men for staring at her. She wondered if it had actually happened or if it had all been a figment of her imagination. But why would her subconscious envision Anakin to be like that? It only knew him as cruel and unrelenting.

Almost without fully processing what she was doing, Ahsoka slipped off of her bed, threw on her shoes, and left the suite, following a tall spiral staircase out of the secret wing of the palace. She wasn't trapped down there, per se—it wasn't like on Coruscant—but there were still some guards stationed in the general vicinity, more to keep people out than in. Once she was on the main level, Ahsoka located one of them and asked her about Padmé's whereabouts. "I believe she's in the regular guest wing," the guard responded. "Follow me."

Ahsoka did, even though it turned out the "regular guest wing" was hallways and hallways long, containing countless suites whose intricacy and elaborate décor far exceeded that of the rooms in the secret wing. That shouldn't have surprised her, though; the guest wing in Anakin's palace was equally, if not more, excessive.

She wandered past a few of the rooms, opening the doors and peeking inside. Padmé was nowhere to be found. In fact, Ahsoka didn't manage to locate her until she had reached the fourth hallway of suites. Past the third threshold on the left, a woman's figure was standing not in the guest room itself, but on the _balcony_.

Ahsoka's heart clenched. _What was Padmé thinking?_ "You shouldn't be out here," she said urgently, jogging over to Padmé's left. "It's not safe. We could be—"

"Oh my Force." Padmé rocketed around to look at her, and for a moment, Ahsoka thought she had startled her. But then she laughed lightly, a smile pulling at her lips. "That's exactly what you said last time. How—how did you do that?"

Ahsoka shrugged, still a bit confused. "Last time?"

"Right." Padmé shifted her gaze back to Alderaan's mountainous terrain. "Remember when I told you about how you protected me from Aurra Sing's assassination attempts? This was the room where I stayed during the peace conference. You found me standing on this balcony and told me I shouldn't have been out here, because it wasn't safe. And I told you I was a friend of the Jedi and therefore no stranger to taking risks." She turned her head slightly to the left and raised an eyebrow calculatingly. "Speaking of which, you probably shouldn't be out here, either, Ahsoka. I thought your doctor assigned you bedrest."

Ahsoka opened her mouth to tell Padmé about her vision, but something stopped her. The newly-appointed leader of the Rebellion seemed much calmer than she had since Sola's death. Ahsoka didn't remember too much about grief, but she had figured out on Atki's ship that it came in waves. Who knew how much longer Padmé would be this lighthearted? Ahsoka didn't want to bring up an event that had obviously been such a trauma for both of them.

Instead, she said, "I came to find you. Are you…thinking about your promotion?"

A corner of Padmé's mouth turned up guiltily. "Yes," she said.

"It's only fair, you know. I mean, you did start the Rebellion."

"Technically, Senator Mothma started it on Chandrila. But after the first battle against the Empire, our rebel cells sort of merged. Not that mine was particularly large, but…"

"You deserve it, Padmé." Ahsoka's voice was quiet but sincere. She rested her arms on the balcony rail and blinked down at Alderaan's terrain. "You've risked everything for this. Sacrificed everything. You were the one who told me who I really am."

"And I'm so glad I did." She felt Padmé's hands on her shoulders and turned her head to look at her. "For the record, I like you more as Padawan Tano than as Princess Ahsoka."

Ahsoka felt a smile grace her lips and slipped her arms around Padmé's waist, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "Me, too," she agreed, looking up at her. "Thank you, Padmé."

Padmé seemed surprised but was quick to return the hug. "You're welcome, Ahsoka," she said, and then they stood like that for awhile, watching the glimmering of the ice caps, the flight of an occasional flock of birds, and the crystal blue dome that stretched above them.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed! Please remember to review if you did! Not only does it make my day, it increases my likelihood of updating quickly. ;)**

 **Love, Isabelle**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey, everyone! Thanks for your patience! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. :)**

 **Thank you so much to kybercrystal and Princess Naina for your reviews! They made my day! :D**

 **Without further ado, here is Chapter 18. As you all know, I do not own Star Wars, but I definitely wish I did!**

* * *

In the weeks spent recovering from her concussion, Ahsoka passed the time watching video feeds from various battles of the Clone Wars. Bail Organa had rescued some of them during the chaos of the Jedi Purge and had brought them back to his palace before Anakin could destroy them. She watched clips of both Battles of Geonosis, marvelling, as always, at Padmé's fantastic skills in combat. When she reached the second battle and caught sight of _herself,_ however, a pit opened up in her stomach. It still felt unreal, to say the least: watching herself in situations that she _should_ be able to remember yet could not. She reached out often for the memories, as if they were only hidden and this time— _this_ time—she might be able to find them. But she was always unsuccessful, and then shame flooded through her, mercilessly reminding her of the true reason she was watching these holos, forcing her to acknowledge her desperate craving to reconnect with the girl she had been before when that girl was clearly gone—

Ahsoka skipped to the next holo.

She watched the Battle of Teth, the Battle of Ryloth, multiple Battles of Felucia. There was a lot missing, but Ahsoka would take anything she could get her hands on. The battles remained distant, the memories impersonal. Not true memories at all. Those had been taken from her.

She still couldn't understand death, and she still couldn't understand Ahsoka Tano.

She wanted to see holos of her trial. To the best of her knowledge, that had been one of her most emotionally trying times and could maybe provide her with insight into who she had been before. The person—not the warrior, not the Jedi. She could easily take a glance at Commander Tano's résumé and still come away knowing nothing about her behaviour or her mannerisms.

She'd asked Padmé for ideas, of course, but the general had given her a slight frown and said, "I doubt those holos still exist, Ahsoka. The first thing Anakin destroyed after becoming emperor was evidence of his most traumatic times. Your trial certainly fell under that category. You can ask Bail if you want, of course, but I wouldn't get your hopes up."

Ahsoka got her hopes up.

When she arrived in Senator Organa's office, he was bent over some datapad while bouncing his daughter, Princess Demia, on his knee. She was an adorable baby, with emerald green eyes that sparkled against her medium brown complexion. Even though she was barely a year old, she already had thick locks of dark hair, which the senator smoothed down gently as a small smile curved his lips. Then he glanced up at Ahsoka. "Feel free to take a seat, Padawan Tano," he said amiably, indicating a chair on the opposite side of his desk.

Ahsoka obliged. "I can see that you're busy, Senator, so I'll make this brief. I appreciate the holorecordings that you've already given me but was wondering if you might also happen to possess any of my…" She pursed her lips and forced herself to say the words. "…Of my trial."

Confusion came over Senator Organa's features but was soon expelled by a hesitant smile. "I'm glad you've found the holos helpful, Padawan, but as I was only able to obtain a few of them, I'm afraid I don't have any recordings of your trial in my possession." Ahsoka nodded and stared at the datapad on his desk. She knew she should have been expecting as much. The senator must have been able to read her disappointment, though, since he added, "I think I have something else—something even better, perhaps—that might aide you in your research?"

Ahsoka's head snapped back up. _Something better?_ "What would that be, Senator?"

This time, his smile, though genuine, had a layer of mystery to it, as well. "Come with me."

She stood and pushed her chair back in, following him through a few hallways and down a spiral staircase. He brought her to a multi-story room with shelves that shot towards the ceiling, crammed with datacrons and paper books alike. The glare of sunlight against gilded columns forced Ahsoka to shield her eyes, but nonetheless, she still revelled at being surrounded by such a wealth of knowledge. Back at the palace on Coruscant, she had not been allowed access to the library unless she was under Anakin's strict supervision. As Padmé had taught her since, that was the very first thing dictators did upon coming to power: limit the information that could be accessed by their citizens, especially those they considered to be threats.

Ahsoka followed Senator Organa to the back of the library, where he summoned a turbolift and subsequently stepped inside. She did, too, watching as he removed a small key from his belt and inserted it into a slot in the wall. The durasteel door instantly slammed shut and the lift rocketed upwards. Ahsoka had to steady herself against the wall as it came to a jarring stop, but Senator Organa didn't react, and neither did little Princess Demia. Apparently, they were both used to this. Well, the senator was, at least.

The door once again slid open, revealing a small one-story room with a few more shelves and a table off to the side. A tiny chandelier cast flickering beams over the chamber, a substitute for the natural light that, along with windows, was conspicuously absent. "I saw Master Kenobi once during the Jedi Purge, before he went to encounter the emperor on Mustafar," Bail Organa explained, leading Ahsoka over to one particular shelf. "He had rescued these from the Jedi Archives and asked me to keep them safe."

Ahsoka pulled one of the books from the shelf, running her fingertips along its thick, leather spine. "Jedi texts," she breathed.

Senator Organa nodded. "I figured they might be helpful," he said. "I only ask that you don't remove them from this room. If they were found by the Empire—"

"I know," Ahsoka said, holding the book to her chest. "Thank you."

He nodded again in recognition, carrying his daughter over to the turbolift. Then, unexpectedly, he glanced over his shoulder at Ahsoka. "I have a couple of senators coming to visit today, Padawan Tano. They are allies, but just to be safe, it would probably be best if you and General Amidala could stay out of sight. Emperor Vader has been quite vocal about the fact that you are missing, and it seems the entire galaxy is on high alert."

A corner of Ahsoka's mouth turned upward. "I'll try my best," she said wryly.

Bail Organa thanked her, and in one swift motion, the durasteel door closed to conceal him. Ahsoka was alone. She took a few more books off the shelf and carried them to the other side of the room, laying them across the table and plopping down in a chair. Studying had been enjoyable enough for her back at the palace on Coruscant; though, in hindsight, she was beginning to suspect that she had only felt that way because it was the single thing Anakin let her do that felt even the slightest bit worthwhile. Furthermore, now she realized that many of her tutors had been knowingly lying to her all along, particularly concerning the galaxy's history. She pursed her lips together, lifting the cover of the first book almost reverently, because this time, it was different. This time, she was going to learn the truth.

Ahsoka poured over the texts for hours. One of them contained an abundance of information about various sabre forms, which Obi-Wan had already taught her during their lessons. He had mostly prioritized Shien—apparently Ahsoka's favourite during the Clone Wars, and also tied to the "unconventional" reverse grip she had instinctively preferred upon beginning her post-Order 66 training—but he had also taught her how to use Jar'Kai, the practice of wielding two lightsabers, and a little bit of Ataru.

She leafed through the pages about Makashi and Soresu before flipping a bit farther into the book. Then her gaze caught on the words "construction" and "lightsaber" in close proximity to each other and, even though she didn't quite know why, she paused. The text went into details about a rite of passage called the Gathering, in which young Jedi travelled to a planet called Ilum to construct their first lightsabers. Ahsoka bit her lip in thought. Despite the fact that Obi-Wan had trained her in sword combat, she currently lacked lightsabers; Anakin still had hers back at the palace on Coruscant, assuming he hadn't already destroyed them. She had her blaster, of course, but she had not exactly received extensive lessons in that department; Obi-Wan had been quick to declare that particular weapon "uncivilized". She would probably become a more formidable opponent with a sabre or two at her side.

Ahsoka turned the page to observe an artist's rendition of Ilum's landscape, cold and unforgiving. She traced the flurries' paths and the landscape's ridges with her index finger, everything dusted with glittering, almost silvery snow. It reminded her vaguely of something— _something_ —but she could not quite place her finger on it. A holodrama she had seen, maybe? Before becoming involved in the Rebellion, she had watched so many of those out of sheer boredom while cooped up in the Coruscanti palace. Or perhaps an image from a holonovel she had read? It couldn't be anything from real life. She had never seen snow in person, at least not since her memory loss during Order 66.

She was so busy trying to get to the root of her déjà vu, she hardly heard the turbolift doors slide open. In any case, it didn't register as particularly important until she heard, "Ahsoka?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin but snatched onto the side of the desk to calm herself. When she turned around, she saw a young man with dark hair and grey eyes, and her heart leapt to her throat. _Great._ This was just what she needed when she was trying to focus. "Lux?" she said. "What are you doing here? Aren't you needed on Coruscant?"

 _I have a couple of senators coming to visit today, Padawan Tano._ Suddenly, Bail Organa's words floated back into her mind, and realization came crashing down upon her. _They are allies._

 _Allies._

"Wait, are you here with others?" she said, before he could answer her first two questions. "Here as in on Alderaan, I mean. On Alderaan with others who want to join the Rebellion?"

"Not too many," Lux answered uncertainly. "We can't all congregate here, or else the emperor would find it suspicious. But yes, we were all called to Alderaan for purposes related to the Rebellion. Most of the senators played some role in the Delegation of 2,000."

Ahsoka nodded. Padmé had told her about the alliance of senators who had noticed Chancellor Palpatine's grabs for power and had subsequently convened to stop him at the very end of the Clone Wars. "How did you get up here?" she said. "Senator Organa told me to stay hidden."

Lux looked at his toes. "Um…well, I thought he might know something about your whereabouts, and after he got everyone settled, I…I asked him about you?"

"Oh." Ahsoka turned back to her book and fought the blush rising in her cheeks and lekku, to no avail.

"He told me you're here with Empress Amidala, too," he continued, as quietly as if someone might be listening in. "Ahsoka, are…are you okay?"

She glanced back up, startled by his rapid change of topic. "I'm fine," she assured him. "I have a concussion, but my doctor says I'm recovering nicely." Then something else occurred to her. She lifted a page of her book and rubbed the parchment between her thumb and forefinger, a bit nervously. "I guess we haven't seen each other since before my escape."

"Um, no," Lux said, taking a few steps towards her. "Did it go all right?"

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" she said tersely, quickly realizing her mistake as his eyes widened. "I mean…yeah, it was all right. I had to engage him in combat because it turns out he already knew I was connected to the Force…" She trailed off, remembering that fleeting moment when she had had the shard of glass pressed to Anakin's throat. "…And, I…I almost killed him."

"Well…"—a strange amalgamation of mirth and sadness crept into Lux's tone—"that's the point of an assassination, isn't it?" Ahsoka didn't respond. She followed the geometric pattern of one of Ilum's snowflakes with her finger, wondering why why _why_ hadn't she killed him? And then a burst of horror exploded inside of her as she realized that if she had, Sola, Jobal, and Ruwee Naberrie would never have died. _Three innocent lives lost. One guilty life saved. Padmé, Darred, and Ryoo plunged into a frigid despair._ And it was all her fault.

All _her_ fault.

As if having read her mind, Lux added, "Why…why didn't you?"

"I…couldn't bring myself to do it," Ahsoka muttered, almost inaudibly. Her voice was raspy. "It was too…" But then she paused. She didn't want to explain herself any further.

She heard Lux's footsteps against the floor as he came to stand at her side. "Ahsoka, speaking of…um… _this_ …have you ever thought about the fact that if something ever, um, _happened_ to the emperor, you're…well…you're third in line to the throne?"

She froze, stunned. _Third in line?_ To be honest, she had never even thought about it before; Anakin certainly had not been preparing her to become an empress. His son, Luke, was the crown prince— _he_ would be the next emperor—and that was that.

"No," she said at last.

"If the emperor dies, his crown passes to Prince Luke, and then, if something happens to him, to Princess Leia," Lux reasoned. "But in the case that both of his children are unable to rule, the throne—the entire _galaxy_ —would be inherited by his only sibling, which would mean—"

"Why have you been thinking about this?" Ahsoka demanded, turning around to face him. Something like fear was beginning to fester inside of her. "I don't care _who_ inherits the throne, I just want someone to replace Vader. And if it's Luke or Leia, then that means Padmé would be able to rule for them until they came of age, and we both know she would replace the Empire with democracy anyway, so it's not like it really—"

"I know," Lux cut her off, sitting down in a chair next to her. "It's just something to think about."

"'Something to think about'?" Ahsoka repeated, and suddenly, the reason for her anxiety dawned on her. "Oh, Force…" She locked gazes with Lux, trembling slightly in her anger. "Don't tell me you're only interested in me because I'm 'third in line' and you think you can use me for status or power grabs, because I am so _sick_ of being used and claimed by filthy politicians like Vader and Erosik who think that the only reason I exist is—"

 _Oh._

 _Oh, Force. Oh, no._

She trailed off and stared down at the table, realizing what she had just accidentally blurted out: she had a strong suspicion that he was _interested_ in her. He had never told her that, and she had just assumed…oh, Force. Oh, Force. What if he didn't?

"Ahsoka, that…that isn't the reason." She watched as he pursed his lips tightly together, frowning at his lap. "I'm sorry if that's how I made it sound. I was…um… _interested_ in you long before the Empire, but I wasn't supposed to be because you were still a Jedi."

Oh. So he was— _had_ been, at least—interested in her. She shoved a fluster of emotions to the side, instead reaching out into the Force to determine if his words were genuine. What she found confirmed his innocent intentions, but Obi-Wan had warned her about politicians. They could be deceitful when they wanted to be and were usually spectacularly good liars. Padmé was the only one he'd told her she could trust. So Ahsoka had to make sure. She had to make sure that Lux wasn't another Prince Erosik.

"You were helping me to assassinate the emperor because you really did dislike his regime?" she prodded carefully. "Not because you hoped to win me over, stage accidents for Padmé's children, and then manipulate me once I became the empress?"

"Why in the worlds would I do that?" Lux exclaimed in near frustration. "Ahsoka—"

"You're a politician," she said. "I've learned to grow wary of them. It's the only way to survive."

"Not all of us are bad," he insisted quietly. "I was just trying to help you. I saw how Vader treated you like you were of little importance to his regime and I wanted to show you that that wasn't the case. That by claiming you as his sister, he gave you a lot more power than he intended."

Ahsoka glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Then her gaze dropped back down to the picture of Ilum. "I know," she said, and this time, she really did. "But I don't need you to tell me my purpose. I've already found it on my own."

Another moment passed in silence. Then Lux pointed gently to Ilum. "What— _where_ is that?"

"That's Ilum," she said. "It's a sacred planet to the Jedi. It's where we go to acquire our kyber crystals so that we can build our lightsabers."

"Oh," Lux said, the colour slowly draining from his face. "So _that's_ Ilum."

"What?" Ahsoka said. When he didn't respond, her tone grew more urgent. "What is it?"

"The Empire's taken over the planet," he said at last. "It's been a recent topic of discussion in the Senate. They've already formed a blockade, and they're planning on ravaging it for kyber crystals for some…classified project."

"'Classified project'?" Ahsoka repeated in horror.

Lux nodded. "The emperor hasn't told us anything else," he said. "But I've seen holos of what the planet might look like once they're finished. Nothing like this." His fingers brushed the page of Ahsoka's book. "It's an absolute nightmare."

 _Nightmare._ And suddenly, one of Ahsoka's recent memories glared in her consciousness, and she gasped as she remembered where she'd seen this image before. "Oh, Force," she said. "I don't care. I have to go. I have to go to Ilum before it's completely destroyed."

Lux looked at her, worry furrowing his brow. "Why? So you can acquire some more kyber crystals? Isn't there anywhere else you can go, Ahsoka?"

"No. There isn't." She leapt to her feet, snatching up the book and pressing it to her chest. "I had a vision, almost as soon as I arrived on Alderaan. The Force was telling me to go there."

Lux's eyes flashed. He reminded Ahsoka of Padmé for a moment. Or Anakin. "Ahsoka, there's already a heavy Imperial presence in Ilum's atmosphere. Do you _want_ to get recaptured?"

"No. I wouldn't get recaptured." She pursed her lips together, thinking through a plan. "This is what the Rebellion is for, right? We take out the Imperial forces on Ilum, which would make a statement to the Empire _and_ allow me to attain my kyber crystals. And then—"

"It would make too much of a statement," Lux argued. "Emperor Vader would hear about it, and you'd have very limited time on Ilum before he'd come to collect you."

"I'll have limited time anyway," Ahsoka pointed out. "The text says I only have so long before the waterfall freezes over and I'm trapped in the crystal cave until it melts again."

Lux obviously had no clue what she was talking about. "Ahsoka, it's too—"

"I'm at least going to talk to Padmé and Senator Organa about it," she cut him off. "Padmé's the leader of the Rebellion now. It'll be her final decision. Not yours."

He flinched at the ice in her tone as his gaze fell to his toes. "You're right," he admitted at last, very quietly. "I'm sorry."

Ahsoka pulled all of the books off the table and slotted them back onto the shelves. Before she could reach the turbolift, though, she once again heard Lux's voice. "Ahsoka, wait."

She shot him a glance. "Yes?"

"I realized…" He threaded a hand through his hair apprehensively. "I realized that I never thanked you. For saving my life on Chandrila."

"Oh," she said, stunned at his delayed gratitude. She had sort of assumed that Chandrila would never come up again. "Well, um…you were in danger. I had to save you."

"I know." A distant smile touched his lips, but not his eyes. "You always did before."

Ahsoka's chest tightened at his unexpected reference to her lost past. "Yeah," she whispered. "I guess I did." Then she climbed into the turbolift, and the door shut to conceal him from view.

* * *

"I want to go to Ilum."

Padmé and Senator Organa stared at her from across the table, shock flickering across their features. Ahsoka pursed her lips together, waiting for one of them to say something. She had asked them to stay after one of the Rebellion's meetings so that she could propose an "idea", even though she was pretty sure this was not what they had been expecting.

"Ahsoka—"

"I know there's an Imperial presence in the atmosphere," Ahsoka said, meeting Padmé's urgent gaze. "But I thought that might be a good…first target for the Rebellion. Before the Empire destroys the planet." Now she tilted her head to regard Senator Organa. "Ilum is holy to the Jedi, after all. And the Empire's wiped out so much of the Order as it is."

Padmé opened her mouth, but Ahsoka held up a hand. "Wait," she said. "I have a plan." She stood and crossed to a holotable on the opposite side of the room, swiftly pulling up a diagram that she had constructed while she was supposed to be resting. Padmé was obviously thinking the same thing; one of her eyebrows shot up at once. "See?" Ahsoka said hopefully, ignoring her scepticism. "I've done my research…"

Padmé rose to her feet and circled around the holotable, some of the hesitance escaping her eyes. Ahsoka took that as a good sign and pressed further. "As of right now, there are three Imperial Star Destroyers positioned right here," she said, waving a hand over the holo. "Those will be our targets. The Rebellion—or at least the Alderaanian royal family—must have some starships that we can use, right?"

"Maybe, but it's important that Bail and Breha are able to maintain their anonymity," Padmé reminded her sternly. "And if we're going to commit so many resources to one planet, it could at least be one that's inhabited, where _people_ need our help."

"With all due respect, General, I don't think you understand," Ahsoka said. "The blockade on Ilum wasn't necessarily imposed to keep Jedi out. The Empire wants something from the planet. Senator Bonteri told me that they intend to harvest crystals for some confidential project."

Padmé whipped around to face Senator Organa. "Is that true?"

He nodded. "As far as I know, yes. Emperor Vader has been highly secretive about the nature of the project, however. I take it he did not even inform his empress of its existence?"

"Of course he didn't," Padmé muttered, pain etched across her features, but her moment of vulnerability ended so quickly, Ahsoka almost missed it. "Well, then"—she straightened her posture and clasped her hands behind her back—"if we _are_ planning on breaking the Imperial blockade, I suppose we will need some ships."

"I have two cruisers that we can use," Senator Organa offered. "And perhaps…starfighters?"

Padmé nodded slowly, glancing at Ahsoka out of the corner of her eye. "The Jedi used starfighters during the Clone Wars," she said, as if that fact had some subtle implication that Ahsoka was supposed to understand.

Finally, she grew tired of trying to decode Padmé's hints. "What are you trying to tell me?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"Is your only goal to break the Imperial blockade, Ahsoka?" the general challenged her. "Or do you have another motive…one linked to your re-acceptance of the Jedi Order?"

Blood rushed to her cheeks and lekku. _Re-acceptance?_ Had she re-accepted the Jedi Order? She supposed she had, though mainly because it stood in direct opposition to Anakin's regime. It was what he had tried to take from her by erasing her memories, so now it only made sense for her to whole-heartedly embrace it. "I was hoping to slip down to the surface," she admitted, "so that I could find new kyber crystals to create my own lightsabers. I read about the process in one of the Jedi texts that Senator Organa loaned me."

Padmé arched an eyebrow. "So, while the rest of the Rebellion distracts the Imperials, you'll try to get past the blockade and land on the surface of the planet?"

"Um…yeah?" Ahsoka tried pathetically. "I mean, I thought I might bring Artoo with me."

Senator Organa folded his arms across the table. "That…might be feasible, Padawan Tano."

Her gaze snapped over to him, her muscles rigid with shock. "Wait, really?"

"It might be," Padmé agreed. "But there's one thing you're still forgetting, Ahsoka."

"What's that?"

A trace of mystery twinkled in the general's eyes as she approached Ahsoka, setting a hand on her shoulder. "Well, I need to teach you how to fly a ship, of course."

* * *

"Lahnya Adira." The name—her own name—grated against the air with a sort of dissonance, and suddenly, she was thrown into a memory from a few months ago, of having to stay behind after one of the Princess Ahsoka's tutoring sessions and accidentally scratching her nails against the chalkboard while trying to clean it.

She slowly lifted her eyes to meet the gaze of one of the two guards, who were standing in the doorway of the living chambers she shared with a few other handmaidens. She had known this time was coming; to be honest, she had been expecting it to come much sooner. Not that she was complaining. Now that fate had caught up to her, however, she would not please them by acting as a coward would. She stood and lifted her chin, pretending, strangely enough, that she was the Empress Padmé. "That's me. I'm Lahnya Adira."

The other handmaidens were already watching her closely, worry etched into their features. Some of them, she was pretty sure, had suspected all along that she was involved in a conspiracy against the emperor but had never said anything. She didn't know if they now feared for her or for themselves, since they had not spoken up. She couldn't be sure, then, that they wouldn't betray her in exchange for the assurance that Vader would not punish _them_.

It didn't matter, though. Vader already knew.

"You're coming with us," the other guard barked. He took a broad step towards her, but Lahnya came to him willingly. She glanced at the other girls out of the corners of her eyes, a little smile curving her lips. And she pretended not to notice as their eyes bulged out of their heads, as they turned to each other and whispered, wondering why Lahnya Adira was so crazy that she would _smile_ upon being summoned by the emperor's guards. Smile at _them_.

The guard tried to seize her arm, but Lahnya dodged his grip at the last moment. "That won't be necessary," she said. "I am willing to come without struggle."

He grabbed her arm anyway, yanking her out of the handmaidens' wing of the palace and into a turbolift. When the doors shut, Lahnya saw her own reflection in the durasteel: wavy, distorted, elongated, as if she were a piece of clay that had been stretched too thin. She looked just a tiny bit paler than usual, but that could easily be her own imagination or another trick of the mirror. She felt metal clasp her wrists—the kiss of a pair of binders against her skin—and then the doors once again whisked open and Emperor Vader's face replaced hers.

Hatred instantly flooded through her as she was shoved into the interrogation room. That man dared to smile at her— _smile_ at her—as she was pushed into the chair across from his. For a long moment, his eyes raked over her features as he drummed his fingertips against the table. "You really do look like her, don't you? The princess, I mean."

"What do you want from me, Your Imperial Majesty?" Lahnya ground out, inserting as much sarcasm into her tone as was safe.

"What do I _want_ from you?" Vader repeated, as if she had just made an amusing joke. He pulled something from his belt and tossed it onto the table between them. The dim light caught the blade, and Lahnya's heart jumped to her throat. "Does this look familiar to you, handmaiden?"

It did. It was the dagger Princess Ahsoka had used in her assassination attempt. The one Lahnya had kept safe for her until right before the wedding ceremony. Vomit rose in her throat, but she swallowed it and lifted her gaze to meet Vader's. "No. I don't believe it does."

"Don't bother lying to me." His lips parted into a sinister grin. The light that glinted against his teeth made them look almost yellow, despite his youth. "I've already had my servants perform fingerprint analyses. And yours were most certainly detected, Lahnya Adira."

 _Great._ What was she supposed to do now? Admit to her so-called wrongdoing after she had already lied? "Has it ever occurred to you, Emperor, that maybe you should focus less on punishing those who rebel and more on not giving people a _reason_ to do so?"

His eyes glinted dangerously. "That sounded like a confession."

"You can interpret it however you want," Lahnya said, but she was trembling wildly, both in her anger and her fear. The former prevailed, and she leaned across the table, locking gazes with the emperor and allowing her lips to curl into a snarl. She was doomed as it was, anyway. "At the end of the war, I was accepted into a prestigious university on Coruscant that was known for its computer science program." Her heart still fluttered whenever she dared to think about it, as if she might be able to stretch her arm a little farther and finally grasp onto that dream. She remembered sitting cross-legged at home with a device in her lap, conversing in that intimate language that belonged only to her and the computer. Her mother and brothers had oftentimes drifted past her and spared a glance at the computer screen, playfully inquiring as to how she could possibly understand that. But their amazement at her abilities had only driven Lahnya further into that quiet little world where she could speak to her computer, tell it what to do, and watch in astonishment as her commands played out across the screen.

But then she plummeted back into reality, remembering the day it had all been brutally ripped away from her. "And guess what? I did end up coming to Coruscant at the beginning of that school year. But not for university. Oh, no. I came to Coruscant because the emperor's forces found me on Shili while they were looking for girls who resembled the Princess Ahsoka. And so, I was dragged back to this planet against my will. Slavery in all but name." She tried to take a calming breath but nearly choked on the burst of memories she had tried to shove into her subconscious for so long. "Is it any wonder, Your _Majesty,_ that I would eventually rebel?"

Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed the Emperor Vader had paled. He wasn't looking at her anymore but at the wall behind her, his lips moving in patterns she could not understand. Then, finally, his gaze once again found hers. "You're a computer programmer."

Tendrils of gold had bled into his pupils. Countless times, Lahnya had seen him grow angry in this way with the princess, though she herself had never been his target. Nonetheless, she raised her chin and refused to let her gaze falter. "I was supposed to be."

"I see." His eyelashes sent shadows skittering down his cheeks like running mascara. In contrast, his golden eyes seemed to glow even more intently, pulsing with a sense of triumph that made Lahnya's heart clench. "You were the one who re-programmed the security records so that they didn't show evidence of the Princess Ahsoka training with Kenobi."

It wasn't a question.

All of a sudden, Lahnya felt as though she were drowning in panic. A sense of lightheadedness pounded within her skull, and for an instant, she thought she might pass out. She was unable to catch herself with the pair of binders still clenched around her wrists, however, so she leaned against the back of the chair instead. "Let's make a deal, then," the emperor said smoothly, once again drumming his fingertips against the table. "I'll grant you a pardon if you tell me where I can find Princess Ahsoka and Empress Amidala."

Surprise possessed Lahnya, momentarily shaking her out of her frenzy. "I—you think I actually know where they are?" she stammered. She almost wanted to _laugh_.

"I do." Vader slowly folded his arms across his chest. "And you're going to tell me."

Lahnya shook her head for longer than was necessary. "I have no idea. People move around."

"You know where they went originally?"

She shook her head again.

"Really," Vader said flatly. He lifted his right hand and waved it in front of her face, his golden gaze locking onto hers like a magnet. "You _will_ tell me where Princess Ahsoka and Empress Amidala are located."

A strange pressure crept into Lahnya's mind, as if someone might be inside, playing with her intentions. She grit her teeth at the memory of that holo Empress Padmé had shown the princess: Ahsoka Tano strapped to a table while the Emperor Vader tortured her. _"And now you're slamming up your mental shields. You can feel me probing your mind, can't you?"_

She didn't think this was the same thing—judging by the hologram, it wasn't painful enough—but whatever it was, it still involved some sort of freaky mental interference that she really didn't like. Lahnya fought the invader, trying to shove it out of her consciousness like she did all those painful memories from her pre-Empire life, but to no avail. And then, all of a sudden, numbness rushed over her like the waves of an ocean lapping against the sand. She felt peaceful. A voice was telling her that it was all right, just open her mouth and say—

She had nothing to say.

Abruptly, the peace released her, and panic once again rushed in to take its place. She remembered where she was, that the _Emperor Vader_ was interrogating her, and that there was no calmness to be felt. But the colour had once again drained from his face, and he was staring at her with something close to disbelief warping his features. "You…you really don't know."

Despite the solemnity of her situation, she almost wanted to smack the palm of her hand against her forehead. That is, if she didn't have binders around her wrists. "No! I don't!"

He narrowed his eyes at her, and for a long moment, she didn't dare to breathe. Then he flicked his gaze up to his guards, whom she had honestly forgotten were standing there until now. "We'll take her into custody while we continue our search for the princess and the empress. If we are unable to find them, I may have further use for her."

Lahnya was yanked from her chair before the last word had even escaped the emperor's mouth. She could barely stand up straight, her legs were trembling so hard. She had watched countless security feeds of Kenobi's cell, after all, and knew of his plight while in custody. But at the same time, a strange kind of elation was welling up in her chest. The emperor had not gotten anything from her. He was no better off than he had been when the interrogation had started.

Even as she was dragged into the elevator and transported down to the dungeon level of the palace, that thought gave her some hope.

* * *

Alderaan's sun winked against the orange horizon, its beams splayed about it like an unruly mane of hair. Black spots, lined with gold around the edges, cropped up in Padmé's vision as she withdrew her gaze. The top of the speeder was down, and the fresh air tossed her hair into a frenzy, brushing her skin and filling her lungs like a tonic.

It was as if, caught in the rejuvenating glow of the sunset, everything was restored to its former glory. Ahsoka's laughs rippled through the air around her, and for a moment, Padmé could sink into a blissful fantasy: Ahsoka was Sola, and both of the Naberrie sisters still had their innocence, long before the Trade Federation's blockade or the Clone Wars or the Empire. She let herself swell with relief that tasted like ripe berries in the summer, felt like dew against her bare toes, sounded like the song of wind chimes, all light and silvery and pretty. But she tried too hard to hold onto the memories, and her brief reprieve slipped through her fingers like water, frustration and nostalgia instantly rushing in to replace it.

Now the sun had dipped completely below the horizon, but the bottom half of the sky still shimmered with a rosy haze. Thin clouds sliced through the heavens above them, their edges sharp like daggers. But then they drifted apart, blown by the wind into softer, rounder shapes. Padmé watched them as Ahsoka's laughs reached her again, distant like an echo. The pitch of her voice soon shot up to that of an exhilarated scream as she directed the speeder into a nosedive. "Ahsoka!" Padmé cried, lunging across the centre console to take hold of the handlebars, but the girl yanked the speeder upwards seconds before they would have hit the ground, grinning the entire time.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," she exclaimed, sparing a glance at Padmé. Her eyes were sparkling. The general inhaled slowly, willing the heaviness to leave her chest. She hadn't been able to save Pooja, Sola, or her parents. She hadn't been able to save the Republic.

But she had, at least, still managed to save Ahsoka Tano.

"Well, I'll have to take you out in a starfighter before we go to Ilum, and then we'll see how you do." But her warning wasn't meant to be taken seriously, and she kept her voice light to communicate that. Padmé had no doubt that Ahsoka would quickly be able to adjust to a starfighter; she had already proven herself to be a natural in the driver's seat of a speeder. Some tiny part of Padmé almost hoped that it indicated the return of Ahsoka's old skills alongside her personality and, eventually, maybe even some of her memories. But she knew it was unlikely at best. More probable was that Ahsoka's connection to the Force allowed her to pick up on flying more quickly than other people would be able to.

The corners of Ahsoka's lips quirked upwards. "Just you wait," she warned, tilting the nose of the speeder farther towards the sky. A gasp ripped from Padmé's throat as she realized that the vehicle was now rocketing upwards in a perfectly vertical line, and she grasped the sides of her seat as her muscles became taut. "When did you learn to fly?" Ahsoka asked, apparently unconcerned by the fact that it would be all too easy for one of them to topple overboard.

"Um…," Padmé started, taking a moment to catch her breath, "while I served as Queen of Naboo, I often disguised myself as one of the royal handmaidens, who were also prepared to act as bodyguards and warriors when necessary. So I received training alongside all of them"—Ahsoka just barely swerved out of the way of a tree, and Padmé gripped her seat a little tighter—"which…was how I met Sabé. And as for learning how to fly starfighters, well…you taught me a lot of what I know, actually."

This captured Ahsoka's attention. Her gaze left the windshield, flicking briefly over to Padmé. "Eyes in front of you, Ahsoka," she reminded sternly.

"Sorry." The Jedi returned her gaze to the sky. "I just—you learned this all from me?"

"Not _all_ of it," Padmé laughed. "Not even close. But a lot of the fancy tricks and combat tactics I know…yes, I learned quite a bit of it from you."

"Full circle," Ahsoka said contentedly, pulling the speeder back into a horizontal position with hardly any exertion of effort. Padmé could hear the _swish swish swish_ of tree tops brushing against the metal undercarriage, and she smiled. The moon was out now, a yellow crescent suspended against a darkening sky and a sprinkling of stars.

"Full circle," she agreed, and they sped on.

* * *

She had long ago lost count of the time she had spent here. Day stretched into night and night into day, until existence became a long smear of indistinguishable, meaningless hours. The emptiness of her current life was enough to pull screams of frustration from her throat. When she thought of being suffocated in this tiny room for the rest of her life—this humiliating little cell, with hardly enough room for her to pace properly—her chest ached and her head pounded. She couldn't even fathom it. She was already going crazy, with no chance of an escape.

She wondered if she was still under quarantine. Probably. The only time she ever saw people was when the prison guards brought her food. There had been one incident when no one had come for days, and she had begun to fear that they planned on executing her by starving her to death. But then they had returned without explanation, and it had never happened again. Maybe, in her delusional state, she had interpreted the stretch of a few hours to be the equivalent of days. She still wasn't sure. Not that it really mattered.

She thought about Ahsoka a lot. Ahsoka staring at her from across the courtroom, her aquamarine eyes swelling with pain. Ahsoka back at the Jedi Temple, blissfully executing her usual "heroics" alongside her precious master. Ahsoka telling the tale of her former friend's betrayal, freely accepting the pity and the condolences of others. When future generations looked back upon their story, Ahsoka would not be the villain. And that was just so unjust. She really was no better than the rest of them.

And then the ray shields flickered out. All of them. _All_ of them, all at once. That had never happened before. She could walk out…right now. Right now. Should she? Was she just imagining this? Had insanity managed to corrupt her that quickly?

Her heart punched against her ribcage as a man's figure solidified in the doorway. She knew at once that he was not a clone. The prison was kept dimly lit, but she could still make out the signature scar that slashed across his right eye. No. No, it could not be. This man was the reason she was in prison. Doubtless he had come to inflict more revenge for what she had done to his Padawan. But wasn't this enough? What more punishment could he possibly imagine?

"Barriss Offee," he said, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Skywalker," she replied, just as curtly.

A wry smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "That is no longer my name."

He said it so simply that she thought she might have misheard him. "Wh-what?"

"The galaxy has undergone many changes since you were last outside this cell," he said, glancing around almost disdainfully. "But you were right about one thing: the Jedi were corrupt warmongers, and as such, they have all been eliminated. Well, _almost_ all of them. Which brings me to my next point." He drew a bit closer to her. "Chancellor Palpatine, the man who ultimately condemned you to this miserable existence, is dead. I am the new leader of the galaxy—an emperor, to be exact. And I have an offer for you."

"'An offer'?" Barriss repeated suspiciously.

"Oh, yes. An offer. And I think you would do well to consider it." He glanced at the floor, as if reading a script that was written there, before once again finding her gaze. "You see, it comes with your freedom…as well as revenge on Ahsoka Tano."

* * *

 **Ahsoka's willingness to re-accept the Jedi Order in this story comes from two motives that she does not have in canon: 1) in _Beyond the Glass_ , she has no good memories with Anakin, only ones of him as the emperor, and therefore has more of a desire to do anything she can to bring him down; and 2) she also has no memories of the Jedi Order rejecting her, and though she _knows_ it happened, she does not fully realize the extent to which it affected her emotionally and is more willing to forgive. From her point of view, nothing and no one could be worse than Emperor Vader. It is very much a classic example of "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" reasoning, which often does not work out so well.**

 **I would love to hear what you think of the story, since your reviews give me inspiration and increase my chances of a quick update. Even just a sentence or two is wonderful! The next chapter is a very important one, and the one after that is a major turning point, sort of like Chapter 13. I anticipate Chapter 19 being a little more Padmé-centric and Chapter 20 being Ahsoka-centric, but since I have not written them yet, this could change.**

 **Thank you for reading, and please review, favourite, and follow! Thanks to anyone who already has.**

 **-Isabelle ;)**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hey, everyone! Guess what? That's right, you guessed it. Time for a new chapter! :D**

 **This one turned out to be a little more Barriss-and-Ahsoka-centric than I had initially expected, though the scene at the end of the chapter is all from Padmé's perspective. I will answer some reviews and then we'll jump right into it. Oh, and as you all know, I (unfortunately) do not own Star Wars. This is a work of fan fiction.**

 **SilverDaye: Nicely done! They will meet on Ilum. :)**

 **Jayfeathers Friend: Thanks for your review! I have considered bringing Maul into this story, because I also feel it would be really interesting, but I'm unsure whether I will be able to do that and still make his appearance feel natural to the plot. If I can find a way of doing that, then by all means, I would love to include him.**

 **Jedi Master Megan: Thanks for your review! The answer is quite similar to the last one. I really would like to bring Rex into this story, especially since I've received other requests for him in the past, I just need to find a way to naturally incorporate him. In _Rebels,_ the only reason the Rebellion was able to recruit him was because Ahsoka remembered he might make a good ally. In this story, since she does not remember him, I am still trying to find a way around that. If you have any ideas, I would love to hear them! :) Also, I have not forgotten the idea you gave me after Chapter 13, about making reference to Vader and Ahsoka's _Rebels_ duel; it will show up quite soon... :)**

 **PrincessNaina: Thank you so much! I'm glad you like Ahsoka's character. :)**

 **Thank you so much to anyone who has reviewed; I really, really appreciate it. Please enjoy the next chapter.**

* * *

The Jedi Temple was gone. Well, not _gone,_ per se, but changed. Altered. The first thing she saw was a monstrously large marble balcony— _that_ had certainly not been there before—and the Imperial flags that clung to the rail and rippled in the breeze. Barriss glanced at Skywalker—no, Emperor Vader, that was his new name—who sat beside her in the royal speeder. With a hint of pride in his voice, he pointed to what had once been the Tranquility Spire and named it as the location of his royal chambers. Barriss tried to picture the Jedi Council's aghast expressions upon learning of such heresy and was hardly able to keep a straight face. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded and shifted her weight. The velvet cushions crinkled beneath her.

Vader indicated the former Tower of Reconciliation. "And the Princess Ahsoka used to live—"

"Wh-what?" Barriss was so shocked, she almost choked. _"Princess_ Ahsoka?"

Vader furrowed his brow when he glanced her way, as if her ignorance of Ahsoka's new status was bewildering to him. "Of course. My sister. She has been…kidnapped."

His inflection on the word _kidnapped_ told Barriss that that wasn't what had happened at all. And then, in an instant, she understood: Vader had kept Ahsoka prisoner by forcing her to remain constantly in his sight. And she had somehow managed to flee. A shudder coursed down Barriss's spine. That was almost frighteningly ingenious on the emperor's part, if not a little disturbing. "I see," she said. "My job is to track her down and bring her back…home."

Vader's eyes gleamed as he turned in her direction. "Yes," he drawled. _"Home."_

Barriss practically shivered with excitement. She wasn't sure whether it was because of her newly acquired freedom or her eagerness to bring Ahsoka to justice or both. As if to shape the promise of a new life into reality, she had already swapped out her prison garb for the sleek uniform of an Imperial officer. She straightened the jacket, her mind swimming with plots for revenge. Not that it required much energy. She had had plenty of time to get creative in prison. "And then I'll be in charge of _protecting_ her," she added slowly, "from any future…kidnappers."

The corners of Vader's lips curled upwards. "Precisely," he said in a near whisper.

When Barriss accompanied him inside, she found that the interior of the temple—no, _palace_ —had been altered even more radically than the exterior. The walls were decorated with portraits—some of them even archaic oil paintings—that depicted royalty she was almost certain had never existed. Vader ushered her into a turbolift, and they were whisked upwards a few levels. Then a chime struck, and the doors parted to reveal something resembling a war room.

Two human men stood at the opposite end of the room, their figures dark against the light of the holograms and computers. The younger one turned around first. He looked to be about the emperor's age and height, with dark hair that served as a contrast to his almost sickly pale skin. He locked eyes with Barriss and lifted his chin slightly, a gesture that for some reason unnerved her. There was something… _wrong_ about this boy. "Who's this?" he barked.

Vader gestured for Barriss to take a few more steps into the room, which she did. "This is Commander Barriss Offee," he said. Perhaps Barriss was imagining it, but the older man, who still hadn't turned around, stiffened. "She's going to help us—"

"I thought you could handle this on your own," the dark-haired boy growled, tightening one hand into a fist. "Isn't that what you told me in the throne room, after she disappeared? It's been over a month now! We should have just paid the ransom."

"There _was_ no ransom, Your Highness," Vader said, his voice dangerously low. Then, before Barriss could quite process what she was seeing, he had whisked himself across the room and pinched the boy's chin between his thumb and index finger. "The rebels who abducted the princess did so to make a political statement. Under no condition were they willing to return her, not even in exchange for amnesty. If you want your fiancée back, I suggest that you—"

 _"'_ _Fiancée'?"_ Barriss repeated. Something tightened uncomfortably in her chest.

The boy ripped away from Vader's grip, turning to shoot Barriss a glare. "Yes. I'm the princess's fiancé. Where have you _been_ over the past three-and-a-half months?"

"She's been in the Outer Rim," Vader cut in, stepping in front of Barriss as if to shield her from view. "Putting to rest various rebellions that have cropped up in the region."

"I just came from the Arkanis sector," Barriss added quickly, hoping to further the lie.

There was an elongated pause as Vader turned around to look at her, something like anxiety playing over his features. Then he once again faced the boy. "Yes. She did. And she is here to help locate the Princess Ahsoka, so you will show her proper respect. Am I clear?"

The boy clenched his jaw. _"Yes,_ Your Imperial Majesty," he ground out.

"Good." Vader clasped his hands behind his back and squared his shoulders, striding over to Barriss. "Now, would you care to introduce yourself to Commander Offee?"

The dark-haired boy pouted at the floor like a child before lifting his eyes to meet Barriss's gaze. "His Royal Highness, Prince Erosik," he said stiffly, neglecting to offer her his hand.

Barriss drummed her fingertips against her leg, the uneasy feeling building in her chest. She couldn't see Ahsoka ever _agreeing_ to get married, much less to _this_ boy. And Barriss Offee, of all people, was good at predicting Ahsoka Tano's actions; that's what had made her so easy to frame after the bombing of the Temple. There was something about this whole arrangement, then, that Vader wasn't telling her. "How does she kiss you?"

Erosik's eyes widened. "What?"

"Ahsoka. She's pretty short, isn't she? Does she have to stand on a stool or something?" She paused, waiting to go in for the kill. "Or does she just _not_ kiss you?"

She could tell she had hit a sore area when the prince flinched back self-consciously. Okay. So it didn't appear Ahsoka liked this boy any more than she did, and, though he pretended not to, he very well knew it. "I mean, let me just say," Barriss added, "Ahsoka isn't exactly the type to, um…settle down. Especially not while she's so young."

"What do _you_ know about the princess?" Erosik snapped, all but lunging at her. "She's _my_ fiancée—"

"Both of you, settle down," Vader ordered, insinuating himself between them and pushing his hands to the sides. The breath was knocked from Barriss's chest as she collided roughly with a durasteel wall, and she realized belatedly that Vader had Force-shoved her. She ran her fingers through her hair and felt something sticky bubbling up along her scalp: blood. She withdrew her hand and rubbed it against her uniform, leaving the right side stained with scarlet. "Commander Offee was acquainted with the princess before the invasion, Your Highness," Vader was saying. Then he locked gazes with Barriss, his pupils flickering with a yellow glow. "However, you will find, Commander, that she has…changed and matured since the time you last saw her."

 _Changed._ There was more to that word than he was saying aloud; Barriss knew it. She resolved to ask him later and climbed gracefully to her feet. Erosik was still sprawled across the ground, his shocked gaze fastened stubbornly to the emperor. "We should get back on topic," she said. "Ahso— _Princess_ Ahsoka. Her whereabouts. Do we have any leads?"

"Lux Bonteri." That came from Prince Erosik, who spat the name as if it were poison. _Lux Bonteri._ Barriss nodded, pursing her lips together to suppress a smile. She could already see where this was going. Ahsoka had told her about Lux Bonteri multiple times while they were still friends, inadvertently revealing her prohibited attachment. It didn't surprise her that he'd help her to escape. "He was involved with the rebels who kidnapped her, wasn't he?"

"Lux Bonteri _and_ Bail Organa," said a familiar voice from across the room. Barriss's gaze snapped up as she remembered the presence of the older man, of whom she had forgotten until now. Slowly, he pivoted on his heel to face her. The light of the computer screens lent his pallid skin an eerie, green tint, and for a moment, she wasn't sure she had seen him correctly. She blinked a few times to focus her vision and, when it didn't change, stiffened in disgust.

"Admiral Tarkin? _What_ are you—"

"Grand Moff Tarkin," he corrected her smoothly, gliding towards her. "Believe me, Barriss Offee, I had no desire to work with you, either, but I will do what I must for the Empire."

She lowered her gaze to the floor, remembering how he had been the prosecutor at Ahsoka's trial. "For the Empire?" she said quietly. "Or is this a personal vendetta against the princess?"

"Most observant, Commander. But I could easily say the same for you. Couldn't I?"

His tone, though benign on the surface, simmered with a warning. She met his gaze and nodded stiffly. "Fair enough. What were you saying about Senator Organa?"

Tarkin's lips thinned into a forced smile. "At the very least, he clearly fraternizes with the rebels who abducted the princess. He is pro-Jedi Order and anti-Empire. And he has always been close to Senator Mothma, who is rumoured to have headed the Chandrilan Rebellion."

"Bail Organa," Barriss murmured under her breath, crossing to the holotable in the centre of the room. "He represents Alderaan in the Senate, doesn't he? If you believe he played a role in the princess's disappearance, why haven't you taken him into custody?"

"It was the emperor's impression that if we let him run loose, he might inadvertently lead us back to the princess," Tarkin said, a hint of hostility colouring his tone. "But after the Second Battle of Naboo, while the emperor was still off-planet, both Organa and Mothma disappeared from the Senate without even announcing their extended leaves of absence."

Barriss's fingers flew over the console of the holotable as she pulled up Organa's and Mothma's profiles. "And Bonteri?" she inquired.

"He disappeared soon afterwards," Prince Erosik bit out, "while we were pre-occupied with interrogating palace staffers who might have been involved."

Barriss found Bonteri's profile and opened it. _Onderon._ Right. She remembered Ahsoka's participation in the civil war on that planet. "We should send probes and spies to the Alderaan, Bormea, and Japrael sectors," she suggested. "If there's any suspicious activity—"

"—We will be notified," Vader finished for her. "Yes, Commander. We've already sent probes throughout the galaxy, but spies…" He stared at the opposite wall and nodded slowly, as if able to see something that the rest of them couldn't. "Spies. Of course." His gaze swept the holotable, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. "AI can only get us so far. We need a select group of people to root out the traitors…and I know exactly who to recruit."

* * *

Ahsoka sat on the corner of a hospital bed, impatiently drumming her fingers against the edge. The room reeked of hand sanitizer and rubbing alcohol and sterility, and fluorescent light beat down upon anything within its reach. Her eyes wandered idly to Padmé, who was seated in a plastic chair on the opposite side of the room. She was covering her mouth as if to hide a yawn, but she quickly lowered her hand and smiled at Ahsoka upon noticing her gaze.

Dr. Lyna Carrera—the human woman who, under her authority as the Organas' head doctor, had diagnosed Ahsoka with a concussion upon her arrival on Alderaan—was standing behind her desk, shuffling through a few files. Padmé had insisted that they first check with her to make sure it was safe for Ahsoka to go to Ilum, but the young Jedi still didn't see the point. Even if her doctor didn't approve, she still had every intention of participating in the mission. After all, it was her only foreseeable chance at acquiring a pair of lightsabers.

"It appears Padawan Tano has recovered from her concussion and will be able to participate in the Battle of Ilum," the doctor said finally, glancing up at Ahsoka with a smile. But her celebratory attitude soon dissolved into cautiousness. "However, Ahsoka, I must be sure. I am your doctor, and your safety therefore rests in my hands. You are positive that you have not experienced any migraines, nausea, or dizziness in the past week?"

Ahsoka bit the inside of her cheek. There had been _one_ tiny incident two evenings ago, after she and Padmé had returned to the palace from a starfighter piloting expedition. Ahsoka's slight dizziness had driven her back to her chambers almost immediately, even though she and Padmé had been planning on attending a meeting with Senators Organa and Mothma. But she had easily gotten off the hook by telling the general that she needed an early night's sleep.

Her concussion, on the other hand, had not let her off the hook. By the time of her return to her chambers, Ahsoka's head had been throbbing with intense migraines, dizziness rocking the world around her, and she'd actually sort of vomited in the refresher, but…nothing like that had happened since, so she figured it couldn't be that important. And besides, she _had_ to go to Ilum.

She looked up at Dr. Carrera. She had kind, brown eyes that had put Ahsoka at ease from the beginning, not to mention the friendly demeanour that practically radiated off of her. Ahsoka felt a pang in her chest at the thought of having to lie to her, but she would do what she had to if it meant getting off-planet. "No. I haven't."

Dr. Carrera ran a hand over her headscarf, pursing her lips together. "Really?"

Ahsoka nodded vigourously. _"Yes."_

"Okay, Ahsoka. I believe you. I just had to make sure." The doctor kneeled down so she was eye-level with her patient. "And what of your memory loss?"

"My memory loss?" Ahsoka repeated, surprised. "Um…it hasn't changed."

"There are no significant gaps in your memory from anytime _after_ your waking?"

Ahsoka squinted. "I don't…think so?"

Dr. Carrera nodded. "If the emperor's goal was to trick you into accepting a different identity, I don't see why he'd want you to _continue_ to forget after he had accomplished that aim. But I wanted to check. I don't have extensive knowledge of the Force, especially now that it's all censored, and I was worried that continuous memory loss might be a side effect."

Padmé spoke from across the room. "I don't believe it is. I asked Anakin after…and…" She hesitated. "Then again, his word isn't very reliable. I mean, he had the audacity to say to me, 'Oh, don't worry, Padmé. I didn't _hurt_ her.'"

A shudder shot down Ahsoka's spine. Dr. Carrera looked in her direction, frowning. "We'll have to keep an eye on it, then," she said. "And speaking of the emperor…" She approached Ahsoka, reaching out as if to touch her lekku. "May I?"

Ahsoka nodded. The doctor pulled a measuring tape from her belt and held it up next to the girl's left lek. She had done this once before, immediately after exchanging a few hushed words with Padmé, though Ahsoka still wasn't clear on why it was important. As expected, Dr. Carrera's gaze locked onto Padmé's almost immediately. "I have good news, General Amidala," she said. "Her lekku _have_ grown slightly since her arrival on Alderaan."

Padmé covered her mouth with both hands. "Thank the Force," she muttered. And then, so quietly Ahsoka could have misheard her, "It's not permanent."

Ahsoka's heart skipped a beat, and she stiffened. "What's not permanent?"

Padmé's eyes seemed to grow twice as large in the span of half a second. "You heard that?"

"Togrutan montrals can pick up faraway sounds much more easily than human ears can," Dr. Carrera explained to her. "In any case, I think we owe Padawan Tano an explanation."

Padmé stared at her lap for a few moments before standing shakily. She glided over to Ahsoka, sitting next to her on the hospital bed and slipping an arm around her shoulders. She couldn't look at the general. Her heart beat against her ribcage, and her mouth tasted sour. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good. Not if it could manage to shake even Padmé.

"Ahsoka, you remember the needles Anakin used to give you to cut you off from the Force," she said gently. "There was a reason he chose that particular Force-suppressant. It had a side effect that he thought he could use to his advantage…that is, it stunted your growth."

Now Ahsoka looked up at Padmé, stunned. "What?"

"He wanted people to believe that you were his biological sister," she explained. "The only way to do that was to make them think that you were half-human, and since humans normally aren't as tall as Togruta at their adult heights…"

"I see," Ahsoka said, realization and anger simultaneously bursting to life inside of her.

"But it was so cruel," Padmé continued, menace slicing into her tone. Ahsoka noticed that she was clenching the fabric of her tunic in a fist. "Because it affected everything—the growth of your montrals and lekku, as well. And it goes without saying that it was unhealthy for you, especially since he gave you such a high dosage—twice a day, at that."

"The good news, Padawan Tano, is that the effects appear to be reversible once you are off the medication," Dr. Carrera cut in. "You are a little behind other Togrutan girls your age, but I believe you will easily be able to catch up."

Ahsoka reached to run a hand over her lekku. "Why didn't you tell me this until now?"

"At first, we didn't want to upset you," Padmé said, setting a hand on her knee. " _I_ didn't want to upset you. But Dr. Carrera was right. We at least owed you an explanation." Then she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm so sorry I didn't do anything about it earlier, Ahsoka."

Ahsoka closed her eyes, listening to the angry voices stirring inside of her. Most of them were directed at Anakin, but, inexplicably…a few chanted Padmé's name. Why? Was Ahsoka actually upset with her for not having told her this earlier? She wasn't sure. Obviously, Padmé had only wanted to protect her, but…did that mean she'd believed Ahsoka was too delicate to handle the truth or something? Wasn't that more akin to the kind of cruel treatment she had received from Vader, all the lies and secrets and paternalism?

 _No._ This was different. Padmé was her ally, her friend. Padmé had helped Ahsoka to rediscover her strength and her purpose. She released most of her anger into the Force, as Obi-Wan had taught her to do, and opened her eyes. "Don't be," she said. "It wasn't your fault, Padmé."

* * *

The hangar of the Alderaanian palace was flooded with waiting starships, and streams of people flowed around them so smoothly, Ahsoka could have sworn it looked like a river if she squinted. The combat force travelling to Ilum was mostly made up of remaining Chandrilan rebels, some new ones from Alderaan, and contacts Bail and Breha Organa had made on distant Outer Rim planets. Many of those worlds had been impoverished even before the Clone Wars, and now they were forced to bear the full brunt of the emperor's reign. The flip side was that they were so far from Coruscant, it was easier to participate in revolutionary action without attracting unwanted attention from the Empire. It was also easier for the Rebellion to appeal to their battle-hardened citizens, many of whom had nothing more to lose.

Ahsoka leaned against the wing of her starfighter, feeling for a pouch on her belt. It contained pieces of metal of various shapes and sizes: the components of her future lightsabers, which had been gifted to her by the endlessly generous Organas. Beneath her other arm, she carried the Jedi text that discussed Ilum and lightsaber construction. For the thousandth time, she opened its cover and ran her fingertips over the pages, the musty smell of the parchment somehow enough to calm her racing heart. She could do this, this rite of passage that she had completed twice before in her old life. Padmé had told her that, during her time as a Senior Padawan, she had even chaperoned a class of Initiates to Ilum.

She swallowed hard and shut the cover of the book, setting it gently on the seat inside of the cockpit. Then she glanced upwards, taking in the rush of people who shuffled around her. She felt almost like she wasn't there at all, like she was watching a play and would have no role in what came next. But she was pulled out of the illusion as a familiar face surfaced, and, before she could change her mind, she jogged over to wish him luck.

"Hey," she greeted him, as soon as he noticed her. Then she searched for something else to say and hastily came up with, "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose." Lux tilted his head to the side and looked at her calculatingly. "I still can't believe we're doing this, Ahsoka."

"Well, we are." She felt a smile pull at her lips, and he grinned, too. "You're welcome."

"'You're welcome'? If I die, you know, it will be your fault."

His tone wasn't malicious, but nonetheless, her former happiness slipped out of her grasp. She thought, idly at first, about how the Naberries' deaths had been her fault, and suddenly a persistent heaviness twined around her heart and yanked it down to her stomach. She grew quickly unable to wrench her mind from the thought, and the more she dwelled on it, the worse her guilt became. And then, finally, the full weight of what she had done—what she had _failed_ to do—came crashing down upon her like a tidal wave, and she felt a sudden urge to scream, as if that might save her from drowning in her remorse. As if someone would come and drag her out from under the surface. But there was no such person, not even Padmé. Ahsoka was indirectly responsible for the death of every person Anakin had killed since their duel. She didn't know what she would do with herself if she got any more blood on her hands.

She flinched at the thoughts and tried desperately to shove those words— _death, blood, drowning, guilt_ —out of her head, burying them in nicer words like _beautiful_ and _life_ and _strength_ and _kindness_ and _gorgeous_. Life was gorgeous, _he_ was gorgeous—oh, Force, she shouldn't be thinking that, either, she was supposed to be a Jedi—but it didn't work, because the bad thoughts kept peeking out from behind the good ones, and a kind of hopelessness was already roiling inside of her. "Try to stay alive, then," she said, the words rushing out of her before she even had time to realize that she'd opened her mouth, and then she understood that she was trying to distract herself and maybe he could help with that.

Lux smiled again. "I could say the same for you, Ahsoka."

"I'll be fine," she said. "You just have to keep the Imperial starships from noticing me."

"So what you're saying is that if _you_ die, it'll be _my_ fault?"

Ahsoka shrugged. "From what Padmé tells me, you've put me in danger many times before."

"That was _once!"_ Lux insisted in mock offence, crossing his arms. "And you didn't need _my_ help getting into danger. _I_ was the one who tried to stop you from single-handedly taking on the entirety of Death Watch without any weapons—"

"Yeah, well, you were also the one who got involved with them in the first place," Ahsoka retorted, suddenly grateful she had spent so much time grilling Padmé on the mission to Carlac. And grateful to her old self, as well, for divulging so much information to the senator. "Besides, we apparently won, so whatever I did worked."

"It did work." Lux's voice was suddenly quiet, and he was looking down at his toes. When he glanced back up at her, sentimentality swept his features. "We won."

Before she could respond, Ahsoka was hit by a sudden premonition that they wouldn't see each other again. It was like déjà vu: undeniably certain, yet still capable of leaving the vague impression that she _might_ be able to change it if she wanted to. But, simultaneously, she knew she wouldn't. Flustered, she tried to shove the feeling to the side. She wasn't sure if it was the Force or simply her own fears, a remnant of the despair she had felt earlier at the possibility of losing someone else. "Yeah," she said quickly, before the warning could creep back in. But the fact that she was _thinking_ about it meant that it already had, and she was beginning to wonder if she might regret this moment later, if she might wish she had said something to him or protected him or demanded that he stay behind or—

"Are you all right, Ahsoka?"

She looked up at him, _"Yeah, I'm all right"_ already on the tip of her tongue. But instead, she somehow blurted out, "Can I kiss you?"

His jaw basically dropped, and her heart clenched, blood already rushing to her cheeks and lekku in mortification. _Oh Force oh Force oh Force._ What in the galaxy had possessed her to say _that?_ "I'm so sorry," she said, gripped by a sudden urge to run. "I didn't mean—"

"No, no, wait," he said, reaching out as if to touch her shoulder, but then he brought his hand back to his side at the last minute. _"I'm_ sorry, Ahsoka, I just didn't think—" He appeared sort of panicked, and she took a bit of comfort in the fact that this was just as awkward for him as it was for her. "Never mind," he stammered, shaking his head slightly. "I mean, if you want to, I'd actually, um, well…I'd like that, too."

She stared at him, and the moment felt somehow fragile, as if it could break to pieces in her hands. But then she approached him and slipped her arms around his waist, tilting her head slightly and pressing her lips against his. Her cheeks were burning, and she wasn't quite sure she was doing it right, because the only examples she had ever had, really, were scenes in holodramas that weren't, well, _real,_ but then she felt one of his hands on her back lek and one on her left hip, and chills pulsed down her spine and she decided that it didn't really matter if she was doing it right. Maybe there _was_ no right, as long as it was mutual.

Gently, he tugged her a bit closer to him, and warmth pooled in her chest. She tightened her grip around his waist, and something about it reassured her, knowing he was there, safe, against her. She was possessed by an inexplicable longing to come even _closer_ to him, and for some reason, the un-Jedi-ness of it only occurred to her in a fleeting burst that dissipated after a split second. She felt the pressure leave her back lek and reappear again on her waist, then slide down to her right hip. Breathlessness poured through her, and then she realized it was mainly because she really _was_ running out of breath, so she pulled away to gasp for air, and then, all of a sudden, she was clutching at her sides and _laughing_.

"Oh, Force," she whispered, glancing back up at him. The grey in his eyes sparkled like silver, and it made her heart skip a beat. "I can't believe we just did that."

"Now we both have to survive," Lux said, reaching out and intertwining his fingers with hers.

Ahsoka stared down at their hands, anxiety beating its wings against her ribcage, because it wasn't until now that she realized what this really meant: that they were together, or at least sort of together, and it would make it that much harder for her to lose him. "I know," she said.

He smiled at her, but before either of them could say anything else, a voice over the intercom ordered all pilots to return to their stations. "I guess that's us," he said, hesitating for a moment before leaning over and kissing her on the forehead. She closed her eyes, and he disentangled their fingers, and then she opened them again and he was walking away. She felt her cheeks and lekku grow warm, because she couldn't tell whether she was embarrassed or happy or sad or nervous, or maybe all of that and more, and she still couldn't shake the sense that pursuing this would be something she really wasn't supposed to do. If they both survived, of course. She went to turn back towards her starfighter, but then he glanced over his shoulder at her one more time, and they locked eyes before she finally had to tear away her gaze.

Artoo was already waiting for her in her starfighter, and he emitted a little trill when she returned. She still wasn't fluent in Binary—not even close—but she had been practicing a little during her time on Alderaan and recognized that he was teasing her for having kissed Lux. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, reaching out to give him an affectionate pat on his dome, but then her gaze travelled upwards and she saw Padmé standing not too far away, her eyebrows raised.

 _Oh, Force. Forrrrrrrrce._

"Uh…stay here," Ahsoka told Artoo. She jogged over to Padmé and, before the general could say anything, threw her arms around her and pulled her into a hug, hoping it would distract her.

"What was _that,_ Ahsoka?"

 _Arrrgh._ Nope.

Slowly, she tilted her chin to look up at Padmé. "What was what?"

An amused smile played on the general's lips. "You know exactly what I mean."

Ahsoka blushed furiously, looking to the side. "I didn't…," she stammered. "I just…I thought it might be the last time I ever saw him."

Unexpectedly, their conversation tapered into silence. The pause felt sticky and made Ahsoka almost afraid to speak. "That's all right," Padmé said finally, her tone solemn, as if she were delivering a final verdict. "He's a nice boy. I approve."

Ahsoka tried to suppress a smile but failed. Padmé's hand gently brushed her back lek, and then she stepped away and held Ahsoka firmly by her shoulders. "Promise me you'll be careful, Ahsoka," she whispered, almost desperately.

"I will, Padmé. I promise."

"That means you're not allowed to get yourself killed."

"I know, I know! I won't."

"I risked too much for you," Padmé said, and even though she was smiling, her muscles were quaking and her eyes were glistening. "You owe it to me to stay alive, okay?"

"Okay," Ahsoka said quietly.

Padmé pulled her back into a tight embrace, and Ahsoka closed her eyes. This time, the accompanying silence no longer felt awkward, but peaceful. "I'm so proud of you," Padmé said at last. "Really, Ahsoka. You've come so far. You're going to be amazing."

Ahsoka nodded as Padmé released her. Force, now _she_ was going to become emotional. "I'll see you afterwards," Padmé promised, smiling sadly, and then, after giving Ahsoka's shoulders a gentle squeeze, she released her and departed for one of the cruisers.

"Padmé, wait," Ahsoka called out, watching as she drew farther and farther away. Padmé turned, tilting her head to the side inquisitively. "May the Force be with you."

A small smile—a genuine one, this time—graced Padmé's lips, and she came a little bit closer. "You too, Ahsoka," she said. "May the Force be with you."

* * *

If it weren't for the Imperial blockade, Padmé thought, Ilum would have looked pretty, like a beacon of light in the midst of the Unknown Regions. As a senator, she had rarely travelled this far from the Core, though she had heard stories from her husband and even from Ahsoka about the simultaneous beauty and danger of the sacred Jedi planet. Breha Organa, who had been placed in charge of the cruiser's bridge, had calculated their hyperspace jump so that they would arrive at a safe distance from Ilum. Therefore, to Padmé, the planet's hostility was lost to such a vast stretch of space, the shimmering glamour the only thing to survive.

She stood next to Breha on the bridge, watching Ilum grow larger as the cruiser slowly approached. Then, unexpectedly, something like anxiety tightened in her stomach. "I should go now," she said, addressing the Alderaanian queen. "My squadron will be waiting for me in the hangar, and we have to engage the blockade before Ahsoka arrives."

Breha nodded solemnly. "Good luck, Padmé," she said.

Padmé thanked her and exited the bridge, breaking into a jog as she headed for the hangar. She knew she wasn't technically supposed to run, but she _was_ the leader of the Rebellion, and it was her only means of keeping her train of thought from spiralling out of control. She was worried about Leia and Luke, whom she had left at the Alderaanian palace with Darred, and she was even more concerned about the battle to come. What if Ahsoka came out of hyperspace before Padmé and her squadron had been able to successfully distract the Imperial blockade? What if they _weren't_ able to distract the blockade? They were senators first, after all, and soldiers second. Padmé was a pretty good pilot—she had had training from many experts, after all—but she had never participated in a space battle with this much riding on her shoulders. Not to mention the fact that she had no experience leading a squadron of starfighters. She wished, selfishly, that Ahsoka didn't have to slip down to Ilum's surface. Padmé could certainly use the help of a Force-sensitive in breaking the blockade.

She arrived in the hangar and crossed to her starfighter, right as Breha's voice came over the intercom to order all pilots to their stations. Padmé had had to make hasty acquaintances with most members of her squadron on the way to Ilum, and now she swept her gaze over the hangar to make sure she could still remember their names. _Reena. Kado. Cera._ They were all mercenaries from the Outer Rim who had personal qualms with the Empire. The only people she had known beforehand were the three senators: Bail, Mon, and Lux.

And this, too, was a source of anxiety. She was aware that Lux had received training from the Jedi—including Ahsoka—during the Onderonian Civil War, but even so, that had been meant to prepare him for planetary battles, not ones that occurred in space. And though Bail and Mon had been individually training in combat since the birth of the Rebellion, Padmé knew there was only so much they could do in a few months' time. They had not had the years of experience she had acquired while learning to fight alongside her handmaidens, nor the chance to pick up piloting skills from Jedi such as Anakin and Ahsoka. But right now, they were all the Rebellion had. Whatever forces were assembled in this hangar would have to do.

Padmé climbed into her starfighter—Force, _her_ starfighter—and played with the comm. She was nervous that she would mess up the military protocol, even though there were multiple people in this room who doubtless knew even less about it than she did. But maybe worrying about it was a way of ignoring that reality, as if the Rebellion were actually organized enough that military protocol was something they could afford to consider important. "This is Red Leader," she said into the comm. "Are all of you ready?"

One by one, the members of her squadron voiced confirmation that they were, indeed, ready. Padmé smiled when she heard Bail's and Mon's voices crackle over her comm, and even Lux's. Suddenly, she couldn't help but relive the moment she had witnessed Ahsoka kissing him, and it almost— _almost_ —made her laugh. But any trace of mirth dissipated as she steered her starfighter out of the hangar, the others on her tail. The Imperial blockade loomed before them, and her heart sank. She most certainly had her work cut out for her.

Before Padmé even had time to address the others, however, the Imperials opened fire. And for just a moment, instead of the starships, she saw her childhood home on Naboo, flames devouring the walls and roof and windows with incomprehensible avarice. She didn't even spare time to think. She thrust her handlebars forward and swerved her fighter out of the way, yelling into her comm for the formation to split up. But she couldn't afford to look over her shoulder to check that it had, because countless numbers of TIE fighters were already pouring out of the Imperial Star Destroyers, almost like an infestation of bugs.

"I've been hit!" one of the mercenaries screamed over the comm, her voice thinning into octaves that seemed impossible for a human being to reach. "I've been—" But then the sound of an explosion ripped through the comm, and suddenly, she wasn't screaming anymore.

It took almost physical effort for Padmé not to turn around and pay her homage. But she couldn't. She already had two TIE fighters on her tail. She swooped out of the way, just barely dogding a bolt of laser fire, and the breath escaped her chest. No time. No time for relief. She could be shot down any minute. Thinking fast, Padmé yanked the handlebars as far to the left as she could, swivelling around her ship so that she could fire at the TIE fighters.

She took one of them down almost immediately, but the other persisted for a bit longer. Padmé groaned as she had to one-handedly manoeuvre the handlebars and simultaneously fire back at the TIE. Eventually, one of her laser bolts crashed into its left wing, sending the TIE veering off balance, and with another shot, she delivered it a fatal blow.

"General Amidala!" Bail's voice emerged from her comm. "I've got four TIE fighters trailing me—"

"I'm on my way, Red Three," she promised, steering her fighter in the opposite direction, even though there was already a sort of frustration festering inside of her. Hopefully, the two rebel cruisers had been able to inflict some sort of damage on the Star Destroyers, but she couldn't be sure. And as long as her squadron was kept preoccupied by the TIE fighters, they wouldn't be able to do anything, either. But Ahsoka would arrive any minute, and the Imperial blockade would have to be distracted so that they wouldn't notice her.

Padmé came up behind the TIE fighters that were in pursuit of Bail, and she opened fire a little recklessly. Okay, more than a little. She wondered if this might have been what it was like to be General Anakin Skywalker during the Clone Wars, and then, suddenly, it felt as if something had wedged in her throat. She was a little horrified by the jolts of satisfaction that shot through her every time a TIE fighter surrendered to smoke or flames, sputtering and dying in the most pathetic way. And yet, whenever she thought of how Anakin had tortured and abused Ahsoka, imprisoned Obi-Wan, and murdered Padmé's family, she almost couldn't bring herself to care. By virtue of association, the pilots in the TIE fighters seemed just as evil to her in that moment as Emperor Vader himself. And she wanted these oppressors gone. She wanted them _dead_.

That was the only way she could create a better future for her children, and for the trillions of suffering people throughout the galaxy. And maybe, even, for herself.

Padmé pursed her lips into a line as the final TIE fighter was eaten alive by a sweep of flames. She turned her ship at 180 degree angle, facing the Imperial Star Destroyers, but almost instantly caught sight of one of her own. She or he had deviated from the planned formation and was now rocketing towards one of the Imperial starships without her permission. "Bail, who's that?" she said into her comm, but before he could answer, Padmé's head was nearly thrown against the dashboard as a TIE fighter collided with her. She tightened her grip on the handlebars and dragged herself upwards, spitting loose hairs out of her mouth. The whining _screech_ of metal against metal still pounded in her ears. _Oh, no._ That couldn't be good.

She tried to steer her ship quickly to the right but found that she had lost some of her manoeuvrability. Gritting her teeth together, Padmé yanked on the handlebars a little harder, and the starfighter finally obeyed her wishes. She reached to open fire, but before she could, another member of her squadron zigzagged in front of her, her laser bolts already soaring towards the TIE fighter. "Thank you, Red Seven," Padmé said gratefully, adjusting her fighter's position and helping the other pilot, whose real name was Cera, to finish off the TIE.

Then Padmé pulled upwards and looped around, but something edged into her peripheral vision that made her heart plummet to her stomach. It was ugly and monstrous, and it ripped through space like a knife, parting swarms of TIE fighters and even two of the Imperial Star Destroyers. Padmé made fists around her fighter's handlebars as a coldness washed through her and left her numb. The _Devastator_. The emperor's flagship. He was here.

 _He_ was _here_.

But he wasn't paying any mind at all to the Rebellion's cruisers and starfighters. He was tearing towards Ilum, slicing neatly through the blockade, with such precision and purpose that it was almost as if he didn't even _know_ he was in the middle of a battle. And then, in one horrible moment, Padmé realized why, and panic whetted itself into little blades and stabbed ruthlessly at her chest. He had never come to defend the blockade.

Somehow, he knew Ahsoka was supposed to be on the planet's surface.

And Emperor Vader was going after her.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, everyone! Next chapter, we will see Ahsoka's quest to find her kyber crystals on Ilum. Also, thanks, as always, to anyone who has already reviewed, favourited, and/or followed. Please review and let me know what you think, as it gives me inspiration, encouragement, and very much happiness. And since the next chapter is definitely going to be a handful, reviews are very much appreciated. :)**

 **Some further notes on the chapter: Obviously, Alderaan is located in the Alderaan sector, but if you were not aware (as I wasn't until I had to look it up for this chapter), Tatooine, Chandrila, and Onderon are located in the Arkanis, Bormea, and Japrael sectors, respectively. If you already knew that, then know you are a way better Star Wars fan than me! ;)**

 **Also, just as a quick time check, in case you are curious: right now, the story is set a little over eleven months since the start of the Empire, and a little over five months since Ahsoka awoke from her coma.**

 **Anyway, thanks so much for reading! Please review! :)**

 **-Isabelle**


	20. Chapter 20

**Hi, everyone! Thanks for being so patient. Some unexpected things came up last week that prevented me from writing, and when I finally did get to start this chapter, it ended up being much longer and more complex than it thought it would be. :o But here it is now!**

 **Thank you so much to Jayfeathers Friend, PrincessNaina, and Marie-yaaeh for your reviews, as well as anyone who has recently added this story to your "Alerts" list. :)**

 **Jayfeathers Friend: Thank you! I'm glad to hear that you are excited. :)**

 **PrincessNaina: You will have to wait and see. ;) Thank you for your review!**

 **Marie-yaaeh: Thank you so much for your support! Sorry this chapter took so long...**

 **And now, without further ado, here is Chapter 20. As you all know, I do not own Star Wars. Enjoy!**

* * *

As Ahsoka stepped out of her starfighter and onto the planet of Ilum, she was hit instantly by a rush of frigid air that raised goosebumps along her arms. It seemed to her in that moment that Padmé's descriptions of the cold—for Ahsoka had not experienced it since before her memory loss—had not done it justice. She felt as though it had imbedded itself within her bones, rocking her small frame with violent shivers and forcing her teeth to grate against one another. Even Artoo seemed to pick up on it, for he squealed uncomfortably and began to shake.

But Ilum, even with its freezing climate, was beautiful in a sense, too. Ahsoka closed her eyes, and a gentle flurry of snowflakes dusted her nose and cheeks, tangling amongst her eyelashes. Underneath her coat, where it would be kept dry, she pressed the Jedi book against her racing heart. She and Artoo had just barely made it to Ilum's surface, and she was still slightly shaken by her close call. Back on Alderaan, Ahsoka had agreed to come out of hyperspace a little later than the rest of the fleet so that they'd have time to distract the blockade from her presence. Upon her arrival, however, she'd found that the battle had not yet progressed to the point where the Star Destroyers would be too busy with the rebels to notice her. In fact, she still wasn't sure that she would have made it through had one of the starfighters not sacrificed itself for her, flying in clear view of the middle Star Destroyer so that Ahsoka could slip by undetected.

Even now, she was not sure who it had been. Maybe Padmé. Ahsoka's stomach knotted at the thought, a disconcerting sensation that only heightened as Padmé's own words floated back into her memory: _"I risked too much for you. You owe it to me to stay alive, okay?"_

Was Ahsoka's debt to her so great that Padmé would force her to stay alive, even if it meant that Padmé herself had to die in the process?

 _No._ She could not think like that, especially with such a trying journey ahead of her. Ahsoka forced the concern from her mind and pulled herself in the direction of the crystal cave. "Come on, Artoo," she said. The droid beeped excitedly and fired up his rocket launchers, shooting out of the starfighter and landing at Ahsoka's side.

She patted his dome as they traversed across Ilum's landscape, striving against the raging gusts of wind and snow. Ahsoka had to lift a gloved hand to shield her eyes, her other arm still wrapped protectively around the Jedi text. Artoo emitted the closest thing he ever had to a moan, and she grimaced. "I know, buddy. Just hang in there."

By the time Ahsoka reached the cliff-face she was looking for, marked at its foot by the symbol of the Jedi, her legs were so numb that she feared they might collapse from beneath her. Nonetheless, she outstretched a hand and closed her eyes, trying to calm her own desperation for warmth. It was the only way she would be able to focus on the Force and, by doing so, melt the ice that concealed the entrance to the cave.

Gently, Ahsoka reached into the surrounding energy field, remembering what her book had taught her. In her mind's eye, she constructed an image of the ice sheets sliding away, dripping into melt water and trickling to the ground, the splendour of the cave's entrance left in their wake. But the Force was much stronger on this planet than anywhere else she could remember, and she realized with a burst of alarm that she was losing herself, losing control of her own vision, that it was dragging her somewhere, and then there was a man standing behind her, one hand on her shoulder. She could not see him—her eyes were still closed—but with an undeniable certainty, she knew he was there. "You're going to be great, Snips," he was saying, but his voice was sort of warbled, like an echo. Like it was coming from much farther than it should have been. "Tell you what. Once you've constructed your shoto, I'll teach you how to—"

Ahsoka screamed and ripped her eyes open, catching herself against R2-D2 before she could fall. _Snips._ She had heard Anakin call her that a few times now, both in holovids and visions. She gasped and lifted her head, glancing frantically behind her, but there was nobody there. The only sound was the whistling of the wind, whipping the bottom of her coat around her knees. "Okay," she whispered to herself, feeling her heart rate decrease. She _was_ okay; she was safe. It had only been a vision. Perhaps, even, one of her lost memories.

She took another shaky breath, cold air rushing in to fill her lungs, and looked up at the cliff-face, only to realize that its appearance had changed. Now, instead of sheets of ice, a grand entryway towered before her, elaborate designs carved into the walls. "Wow," she breathed, unable to grasp any other word capable of describing it. A sudden reverence possessed her, and for an instant, she felt that her claim to the Jedi was legitimate, that she was meant to be here, even though she knew that the Order had expelled her in her old life.

But that had not been her fault, had it?

Ahsoka approached the threshold and passed through, Artoo close on her heels. It opened up into a cavernous room constructed almost entirely of ice. Larger-than-life statues, presumably of Jedi Knights, were posted at equal intervals, lightsabers drawn as if to protect the sacred planet from invaders. Ahsoka's breath caught not only at the sheer beauty and intricacy, but the sense of peace that instantly numbed her fears and held her in a calming embrace. The Force was content here. She laughed, seized by a sudden burst of ecstasy, and ran to the centre of the room, craning her neck to look up at the domed ceiling. She thought of how her old self had come here before, how the pre-Order 66 Ahsoka Tano might have stood right where she was standing now, and a shiver shot down her spine. The thought was potent, somehow, as if, for a moment, it held the ability to bridge the severed eras of her life.

Then reality crashed back down upon her, and she remembered that she had limited time before Ilum's sun set—and that was only if Vader and his Imperials didn't find her first. Ahsoka sat on the floor, crossing her legs, and laid the book out in front of her. According to its instructions, this next part would be more complicated.

She glanced down at a diagram in the book and then lifted her gaze to the ceiling. Bronze, octagonal doors encircled the top of the wall, and Ahsoka raised a hand to telekinetically open the one on her far left. With an elongated _groan,_ it obeyed her command, and rays of golden light instantly spilled through, colliding with an object that resembled a crystal chandelier. She stood and brought her hand above her head, turning her wrist in a slight circular motion. Mirroring her, the chandelier rotated to the left, redirecting the beam of light towards a frozen doorway. Ahsoka watched, her eyes wide, as ice turned to liquid water, gushing from the ceiling and subsequently trickling down the staircase. _Shh, shh,_ it whispered delicately, like the waterfalls she had heard in her vision of Naboo.

She took a few tentative steps closer and flinched as she was splashed by a spray of water. Artoo whirred playfully, and Ahsoka shot him a pointed look. "Stay here," she instructed the droid. "I'll be back as soon as possible, okay?"

He beeped in affirmation, and Ahsoka tucked the book beneath her arm and passed the threshold. Almost unconsciously, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes, as if the fragile beauty of the place might otherwise shatter. Like everything else she had seen thus far, the crystal cave was comprised completely of ice, which spiralled around her like the blue streaks of hyperspace.

Ahsoka glanced to her right, and a chill swept down her spine. Her own distorted reflection blinked back at her, and she was reminded, suddenly, of the day she'd arrived at the Alderaanian palace and glimpsed herself in the glass of the window. She had seen not the girl in the wedding dress, the girl who was physically there, but instead, the person she must have been as a Jedi—the person she was on the inside. And wasn't that what she had always been looking for, even before she had learned the truth of her past? Hadn't she always harboured an unspoken suspicion that she was meant for more, that there was something about the situation at the palace that was wrong, that perhaps Anakin wasn't being completely honest with her?

She thought back to all of those times she had stared into the mirror and tried to make sense of how she and Anakin could possibly be biologically related. Had that been what she was doing, even then? Had she been trying to look, in a sense, beyond the glass—beyond Princess Ahsoka's reflection, beyond the lies that Anakin and his Empire had fed to her, beyond the propaganda and secrets and whispers—in hopes of determining the truth for herself?

"It's every citizen's duty to challenge their leaders, to keep them honest, and hold them accountable if they're not." The voice drifted to her as if from far away, and when Ahsoka turned around, her heart slammed against her ribcage. The crystal cave was gone, replaced by a dimly lit classroom. Her gaze roamed over rows of blonde heads, all of them bent over datapads and computers, and then travelled upwards so that she saw… _her_. The same younger version of herself whom she had met in her vision of Naboo. The one who had apparently been dying.

Ahsoka's younger counterpart lifted her gaze at the exact same time Ahsoka herself did, and, with a burst of panic, she realized that she was locked in a steely staring contest. "But you wouldn't know about that, would you?" young Ahsoka said languidly, setting a hand on her hip and tilting her head. "You did exactly what he wanted you to do, believed exactly what he wanted you to believe, for six entire weeks. If Padmé hadn't convinced you that he was _using_ you, you never would have stood up to him. You wouldn't have been smart enough to see that he was lying to you. You wouldn't have been able to figure it out on your own."

"That's not true," Ahsoka said, but it floated past her lips as a whisper.

 _"_ _Liar!"_ All of a sudden, young Ahsoka looked as if she were barely restraining herself from leaping across the room and attacking her older counterpart. Rage smoldered in her eyes, and her fingertips brushed the hilt of her lightsaber. "You disgrace _my_ name! You call yourself Ahsoka Tano? You are a stranger to me." She took one brisk step across the classroom. The students' eyes continued to bore into their datapads, as if nothing out of the ordinary were going on. "Ahsoka Tano would not have sat helplessly around as a Sith destroyed the galaxy. She would not have let someone hit her without fighting back. She would not have blindly accepted _lies_ that had obviously been created to control her. She would not have—"

"That was _before!"_ Ahsoka protested, pressing the Jedi book to her chest. Momentarily, she wondered what it would be like if it could spill all of its information into her, like in the process of osmosis. _Osmosis._ That was another thing her tutors had taught her. Had _it_ been made up, too? "That was before I knew it was all lies. That was before I knew about my true past!"

"'Your _true_ past'?" young Ahsoka repeated incredulously. She tipped back her head as laughter shook her frame, the sound childlike and yet somehow simultaneously dangerous. "If you know so much about your true past, then tell me this." She gestured to the room around them. "Where— _when_ —are we now? And why am _I_ here, teaching a group of non-Jedi children?"

"Um…," Ahsoka stammered, blood rushing to her cheeks and lekku. "This is after…"

"No. It is not after I left, dear." Her younger counterpart's eyes gleamed condescendingly. "Look at you. So weak and pathetic and naïve. You'd never even seen _snow_ until ten minutes ago."

Ahsoka bit the inside of her cheek, trembling. "Shut up."

"He won, you know that? Vader won. He truly did kill Ahsoka Tano. What do you think makes a person, hmm? Our experiences. Our _memories_. Because you know what our memories do? They influence us. They shape our personality." Young Ahsoka's lip curled into a snarl. "Ahsoka Tano. You're not Ahsoka Tano. You're not me. You're a stranger in _my_ body, Princess."

A flurry of rage ripped through Ahsoka, so rapidly that she almost couldn't catch her breath. "Don't call me that!" she screamed with what little air she had. "Don't you _dare_ call me—"

"Princess," her younger counterpart whispered, raising her eyebrows tauntingly. "Her Imperial Highness, Princess Ahsoka." She swept into a mocking bow, giggling when Ahsoka's face grew hot. "Oh. Would you look at that. I appear to have struck a nerve, don't you think?"

Another scream clawed its way up Ahsoka's throat, and she had to squeeze her hand into a fist to suppress it. She was here, wasn't she? She was on Ilum, trying to find her kyber crystals. And yet, no matter what she did, nobody was ever able to see her for something other than what _Anakin_ had done to her. What _he_ had decided—

 _Ilum._

She was on _Ilum_.

And this wasn't real.

The simplicity of that fact came back to Ahsoka in a jarring rush, and she gasped and looked up at her younger counterpart. This girl before her was not the real Ahsoka Tano, as she claimed to be. She was only a figment of Ahsoka's imagination, a personification of all of her own fears and self-doubt. As if she could tell what her older counterpart was thinking, young Ahsoka's grin slid into an uneasy frown. "You're lying to me," Ahsoka said.

"I— _I'm_ lying to you?" young Ahsoka repeated, swelling on some remnant of confidence. "How would you know that, dear?" She snapped her fingers, and a hazy image unfurled to Ahsoka's right, sharpening in clarity after a few seconds. Dread tightened in her stomach as she saw a nightgown-clad version of herself sobbing into Anakin's shoulder, his arm around her waist. _Oh, no._ "Remember when you woke up? How easily you swallowed an entire monologue of lies?"

"I—I was confused," Ahsoka argued, trying to convince herself as much as she was her younger counterpart. "I couldn't even remember my _name_ —"

"You still don't remember anything," young Ahsoka reminded her, planting both hands on her hips. "Everything you know has been told to you. By _Padmé_. She's a politician, remember? How do you know _she_ wasn't lying to you? How do you know she was any better than the emperor? How do you know that you weren't just another pawn in some power play, and Padmé was trying to control you to take some control away from Anakin—"

"Because she just _wasn't!"_ Ahsoka cried, exasperated. "She had proof. She had holovids."

"So did Anakin." Young Ahsoka's lips parted into a triumphant grin. She waited a moment before whispering, very pointedly, _"Remember?"_

Ahsoka ripped away her gaze and looked down at the ground, breathing slowly in an attempt to calm herself down. "Yes," she said, her voice hoarse. "I remember. I remember standing in the nursery, Anakin's lightsaber to my neck, as Padmé stood with her children next to a broken window. She could have jumped. She could have run away and left me with him. He would have wiped my memory again and forced me to get married to Prince Erosik. I would have been a prisoner. Padmé would have been free." Ahsoka swallowed hard and looked her younger counterpart in the eyes. "But she didn't do that. She stayed. For me."

And that was the difference between Padmé and Anakin, Ahsoka realized. The former had _shown_ that she truly cared about her, that she would sacrifice the certainty of her own freedom for a chance to save Ahsoka. She had given her a reason to trust her.

And Ahsoka did. She trusted Padmé with her life, because Padmé trusted in _her_.

"But what about when she—"

"You are lying to me," Ahsoka cut in, making her voice a little bit firmer. "You are drawing on my own fears and insecurities, and you're _not_ real…" She held up a hand to shield her face as her younger counterpart lunged forward, opening her mouth as if to intervene. "No, you're not, you're _not_ real…I _am_ Ahsoka Tano, I _am_ a Jedi, and you're _lying_ to me!"

She heard the younger version of herself scream in anger, a sort of battle-cry that reverberated through the space around them. But Ahsoka didn't look back. She closed her eyes and held her head high, taking deep breaths. _This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real,_ she repeated to herself, even as the screams grew louder and she could feel the heat of a lightsaber against her neck. _This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't…_

And then the heat swept away, Ilum's omnipresent chill rushing back in to replace it, and Ahsoka opened her eyes to find that she was on her hands and knees in the ice cave. She took so long to catch her breath that it almost didn't occur to her: this was not where she had been before. _This_ chamber branched into three hallways, each of which was identical to the others and yet wound in an entirely different direction. Ahsoka tried to climb to her feet, but a sudden rush of dizziness overcame her, and she fell limply onto her right hip. When she looked up, a hazy veil seemed to have been dropped over her vision. She thought again of the incident after the piloting expedition with Padmé… _no_. This had nothing to do with that. She was probably just…still in shock after having faced down such a vicious version of herself.

But then something— _someone_ —emerged from the middle hallway and glided towards her. Ahsoka blinked up at them, trying to bring their face into clarity, but still all she could see was a broad-shouldered blob dressed in dark brown robes. They were male, she was pretty sure… _pretty_ sure. Or maybe there wasn't really anyone there. Maybe she was just hallucinating. After all, why would someone else be in the caves of Ilum—unless, of course, they were an Imperial who was out looking for their lost princess?

The thought sent a bolt of panic racing through her, but as she once again tried to pull herself to her feet, a hand found her upper arm and gently helped her up. "Hey, Snips, take it easy," he said. "You're going to be okay." _Snips?_ Ahsoka's heart clenched, and she whipped around to look him in the eyes. This time, the haziness of her vision subsided, and his features finally sharpened into focus. _Anakin Skywalker._ Not the emperor, she somehow knew, but the Jedi.

And before she could even process what was happening, he had wrapped his arms around her and tugged her into an embrace, trembling wildly. A small part of her whispered that this wasn't real, either, that this was probably just another test, same as the last one, but for a moment, she didn't care. She wanted— _needed_ —this taste of her old life, because she needed to know what Anakin had been like before he'd become such a heartless monster. She needed a real father figure, one who actually cared about her for selfless reasons, one who wanted her to be confident and independent but was also there to reassure her when she needed it. This, she realized, had always been her ideal image of Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, ever since she'd learned from Padmé that he had once existed, and now that he was in front of her—now that she was literally in his grasp—she couldn't just let him go.

A few more seconds. Just a few more seconds, and then she would denounce him, leave him, tell him he wasn't real, everything she had just done to her younger counterpart.

"I want you back," she heard herself whisper, and the now-familiar yearning for her past blossomed in her chest and smashed through her defence mechanisms. She wanted this to be real so badly, she could have screamed. She wanted to clutch at this little shred of her lost past and keep _this,_ at least, for herself. She wanted to never let go. "Anakin, he's after me…"

"I know, Ahsoka. I'm so sorry."

 _"_ _You're_ after me."

He pulled away just slightly and looked down at her. The tears on his cheeks sparkled in the soft glow of the crystal cave. "Ahsoka, you have to believe me. I never wanted to become this."

"Then who?" Her voice trembled as she tried to say the words. "Who did you want to be?"

He just squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head. A sharp sob ripped from his throat as more tears oozed down his cheeks. "I just needed to protect her, and I…" He was breathing hard now, and for a second, she thought he might not be able to continue. But then, under his breath, he added, "And I…I wanted you back, Ahsoka. I missed you." He reached down and lifted her chin so that she was looking at him. "Listen to me. I'm so proud of you, okay?"

 _"_ _Proud_ of me?" she repeated in a whisper. "Then why? Why would you wipe away everything that made me who I was? If you were so proud, why would you take that from me?"

"I _had_ to," Anakin bit out, his tone wrought with raw desperation. He ripped away from her violently and shoved one hand through his hair. "You don't understand. I had to protect you—"

"From _what?"_

"From yourself!" The illusion of his goodness was crumbling to pieces in front of her eyes, and now, all she could see was _him_. Emperor Vader. The Anakin she knew. How could she have fallen for this? Why hadn't she rebuked him instantly, as she'd known she should have? Ahsoka started to back away, but Anakin grabbed her by her wrists and yanked her forward. "No. _No._ You still don't get it. If I had let you remember, I…it would have made _me_ weak…"

"You mean you wouldn't have been able to control me, is _that_ what you mean?"

She expected a fiery retort, but instead, he froze, his gaze searing into hers. Then his grip on her wrists tightened dramatically, and she winced. "Ahsoka, I…," he stammered. As soon as his muscles loosened, just the tiniest bit, she pulled away. "Ahsoka…"

"Don't bother," she spat at him, already backing towards the other side of the chamber. "I don't know why I ever wanted to know you. Do you even _realize_ how sick and twisted you are?" He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "No. Don't try to defend yourself. Answer me honestly. Would you ever have tried to control Obi-Wan the way you did Padmé and me?"

A nervous smile played on his lips. "Ahsoka…"

"You can't admit that your Empire is sexist and patriarchal?" She knew she wasn't talking to the real Anakin, but there was something cathartic about finally saying it aloud, this unspoken thing that she had picked up on yet hadn't quite been able to describe—not until Padmé had taken her under her wing. "Or even that it allows innocent people to suffer? I saw the Coruscant underworld, I saw people begging for scraps of food or even just a single credit, I met a woman who was willing to sacrifice her moral values so that her son could be educated, and in the meantime, you were forcing me to wear gowns that were worth thousands of credits a _piece_ …"

"Ahsoka, I'm sorry," Anakin said softly, approaching her. "Come on…"

"No. You don't just get to be _sorry_. Do you have any idea how many _lives_ you've ruined?"

He took her by the shoulders before she could dodge his grip. "The Coruscant underworld was always devastated, Ahsoka, long before my time. That much isn't my fault."

"Then why don't you take responsibility for what _is_ your fault?"

 _"_ _Ahsoka."_ He knelt down so that they were at eye level and said, very gently, "Where are you?"

She froze as her heart slammed into her ribcage. "Wh-what?" she finally managed.

He smiled at her as if she were the most precious thing in the universe. "Just tell me where you are, Ahsoka. Ilum, right?" She shook her head slightly, realizing belatedly that her lips had parted in shock. "I know you're on Ilum, Princess. I have my sources." He climbed to his feet so that he towered over her. She must have looked nervous, because one corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. "Did you enjoy your little visit to Alderaan?"

Ahsoka tried to pull away from him, but he had her cornered against one of the walls. Why was he asking her where she was? He was just imaginary, wasn't he? Maybe the Force was trying to scare her, to make her think that he was real when he wasn't. Maybe this was just another test. But then her blood ran cold as an image seeped back into her memory: Anakin and Padmé sitting together in a Nabooian meadow. She remembered how, at the time of the vision, she had been wearing her torn wedding dress and that brown cloak, and immediately afterwards, Vader had sent out a notice, claiming that she would be found in those exact same clothes. _It won't be too long until we meet,_ he had warned her in the meadow, wearing the kind of smile one wore when one knew something the other person didn't.

That same smile stretched across his face now, and it only became wider as she shook her head more frantically. "It was all an act?" she demanded. She thought of the tears and the trembling and the vulnerability, the gentle manner in which he had spoken to her before losing his temper, the way he had called her Snips. She almost couldn't believe Vader would have been able to fake all of that, but he was cunning, in the cruellest possible way. And if he thought that it would get him what he wanted, she knew he'd do it in a heartbeat. "You pretended to be an image of Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker so that I'd tell you where I was?"

He didn't take his eyes off of her, or give her any immediate answer to her question. Instead, he slowly—very slowly—stretched his arm out behind him, summoning Ahsoka's Jedi text with the Force. She realized she must have dropped it when she'd collapsed of dizziness and, upon discovering Anakin's presence, had forgotten to pick it up. "Does this old relic teach you anything about Force connections?" he said with a mocking laugh.

"Don't _touch_ that," Ahsoka growled, lunging forward and reaching to knock it out of his hand, but he easily pushed her back. "It doesn't belong to you."

He just snorted, his eyes skirting over the book's cover. "Maybe," he said, almost to himself, "but it wouldn't teach you how to manipulate them, hmm?" Then he looked back at her, his eyes burning with a terrifying sort of glee. "It wouldn't teach you how to share visions with others, or how to project a hologram of yourself through the Force?"

Vomit rose in Ahsoka's throat, and she leaned her head against the wall, blinking up at the ceiling and willing herself to breathe. It almost wasn't possible. This man before her was the _real_ Emperor Vader, just like he had been in her vision of Naboo, and though he wasn't physically here, he at least knew which planet she was on, and he was coming for her. He was coming for her, and she hadn't even found her kyber crystals yet. "You must be in the crystal cave," he continued, his voice low. "Otherwise, you never would have assumed that Anakin Skywalker was appearing to you in a vision. You never would have been fooled. Is that right?"

She felt her lips moving, forming the word _no,_ but Anakin— _Vader_ —just laughed. "You don't have much time left, Princess," he cautioned her, his tone deep and dangerous, but his eyes, now ugly and yellow, glittered with joy. He once again bent down to her level, tightening his grip on her left shoulder as their gazes locked. She fixed him the fiercest glare she could, but before she could say anything, he murmured, almost hypnotically, "You can go to sleep now, Ahsoka."

The meaning of that sentence didn't quite make sense, though, and the last few words sounded somehow…murky, as if they had both been plunged underwater and he was still trying to talk to her. Darkness swept her vision, and her legs shook and then slackened, but the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was Vader standing above her, his golden eyes pulsing with triumph as the rest of his body dissipated into nothingness.

* * *

Ahsoka stood in a doorway, watching Anakin and Obi-Wan talk to each other. They weren't that far away from her, but she could still only hear snippets of their conversation. Anakin was gesturing wildly, his nose wrinkled and his lips twisted into a scowl, the kind of contorted expression that had always warned her of an inevitable loss of temper. But his eyes weren't flashing yellow, not like they normally did. They remained blue, albeit fiery, though his voice scraped roughly against his throat as he demanded, "Not Ahsoka, _not_ Ahsoka…"

Both he and Obi-Wan were dressed in golden armour that made her somewhat uneasy, as it certainly didn't resemble anything she had seen them wear in the holovids of the Clone Wars. But all the same, she knew they still had to be Jedi. Obi-Wan's beard was trimmed neatly, his hair was combed back, and his eyes still possessed a kind of hope that she knew would be gone by the time of the Empire. And Anakin, despite the roughness of his tone and the ferocity of his gestures, obviously cared about his mentor. Once in awhile, he would drop his arms to his sides and look at Obi-Wan gently: a silent, feeble plea for him to understand. He didn't want Ahsoka to go through what he had, he said. Because what if the mission went wrong?

Ahsoka didn't know what they were talking about, but the longer she watched them interact, the harder her heart pounded against her ribcage. A keen sense of agitation hovered at the edges of her consciousness, and she drummed her fingertips against her leg in an attempt to calm herself down. But the anxiety only further swelled within her; she had just been involved in something other than this, and she needed to get back to it. At least, she was pretty sure she had to, but she couldn't quite remember where she had just been or why it was important.

Maybe it could wait a few more seconds. The two men were saying something now about Anakin's past, but his features had once again twisted into an expression of unbearable pain and hardly suppressed anger, and he was clenching and unclenching his fists rapidly. _"Don't_ make me talk about it, Obi-Wan," he growled, and Ahsoka thought idly that that was strange and even a little offensive, that one could have a past yet refuse to interact with it, while in the meantime, she had to scour the galaxy for even a trace of who she had once been.

Somebody tapped her shoulder, and she turned around to face a girl who was standing behind her. Ahsoka wasn't even surprised to see that she was yet another version of herself, younger than she was now but older than the one she had seen in her vision of Naboo. She wore a two-piece aquamarine dress and a glittery headpiece around her montrals, with a diamond that fell in the centre of her forehead like something Ahsoka had worn sometimes as a princess. Her heart dropped to her stomach as that connection completely registered. All of a sudden, she couldn't shake the overpowering sensation that there was something sickeningly wrong here.

"Wake up," her counterpart said urgently, meeting her gaze with desperate eyes. "Wake _up._ He's put you to sleep, but if there's to be any hope for you, you must wake up now. _Now."_

Her tone left no room for argument, but Ahsoka still found herself shaking her head confusedly. She wanted to wake up, yes, but she couldn't remember where she would be when she did so, or who might be there, or if she would be in danger, and besides, she didn't know how. "Here," her counterpart said quickly, taking both of her hands in her own. "Close your eyes."

She did. For a long moment, all she could feel was her counterpart's tight grip and a palpable tension in the air. And then, finally, a tingling warmth planted itself in her chest and grew to engulf her, flowing as far as her toes and fingertips. She shivered, thrilled by the way they buzzed with untapped energy, as the warmth of her counterpart's hands disappeared from hers. _"Argh,"_ she groaned, as the world flipped upside down and rocked her stomach, and she felt the bitter cold of ice searing against her lekku and an elevated portion of the ground slicing into her hip. "Argh," she muttered again. Everything was sore. He had—

 _Vader._

Ahsoka gasped and bolted upright, hardly noticing as her entire body ached in protest. How long had she been out? A few seconds? A few _hours?_ Had Vader yet to arrive? Or could he already be in the crystal cave, searching for her?

She didn't even have her kyber crystals yet.

Something lodged in her throat, but she tried to breathe anyway. She would look for him in the Force, she decided, to determine whether or not he was already on Ilum. But before she could completely let her shields slip, she realized that that plan was risky at best. If she was able to latch onto Vader's presence, he'd also be able to find hers, and then he'd know exactly where she was. That meant that she would essentially have to go about this blind.

"Okay," she whispered, her mind already branching out in countless different directions. The Jedi book lay not too far away from her, in the exact spot where Ana— _Vader_ had disappeared. Ahsoka reached out and pulled it towards her, opening it up in her lap and flipping frantically to the pages about lightsaber construction. It told her nothing that she hadn't known before: she would have to pass trials of character in order to be granted her crystals, and they would be personally designed by the crystal cave to challenge _her_ and prove that _she_ was worthy…

But she had already passed that trial. She had faced down her own fears and insecurities in the most brutal way. Had Vader's appearance interfered with the next trial, and now she had lost her chance? Did the cave not believe her to be worthy because she wasn't technically a Jedi?

She slammed the book shut and stared at its cover, tears blurring her vision. Maybe he was already here and no matter what she did, she was too late. Maybe she should just give up. Maybe it was like something Obi-Wan had told her once: _All is as the Force wills it._ Maybe the Force had willed all of this, too, Anakin's ascension to power and her memory loss and—

 _No._

The hard feeling in the back of her throat dissolved just slightly. _No,_ she thought again, more forcefully this time. She was Ahsoka Tano. And Ahsoka Tano wasn't going to just sit here, crying and waiting for Vader to collect her. Maybe, for all she knew, she _was_ doomed, and this wasn't going to end in her favour. But right now, at this point, anyone could win. And if Vader wanted her back on Coruscant, well, he'd have to fight, because she was sure intending to.

She dried her eyes and climbed to her feet, taking a deep breath and opening herself up to the Force. _I trust you,_ she thought, willing it to guide her to the next phase of her trials—or, perhaps, even to her crystals. _I trust you. I need your help. Please._

In response, she felt it ripple and fold around her, lending her a bit of warmth, sort of like a blanket or a shawl. _Don't worry,_ it seemed to say. _I'm on your side._ And as Ahsoka bit her lip, daring to sink further into the energy field around her, a quiet song surfaced, and the glow of a crystal flickered across the darkness of her closed eyelids.

Her breath caught. _There._ Hesitantly, she pulled her eyes back open, but the crystals' melody still hummed in her montrals, light and echoey like bells. She tip-toed towards the hallway farthest to the right, following the Force's guidance deep into the cave. The air around her seemed to pulse with foreboding, and she jumped as she felt something brush against her…only to realize a moment later that she had stumbled a little too close to the wall.

"Get ahold of yourself, Ahsoka," she muttered, clutching her book closer to her chest. She was a little ashamed of having been startled, but at the same time, it was becoming increasingly difficult to calm her nerves. The cave's light was beginning to taper out, and each new room she entered was further engulfed in darkness. Now, she could hardly see her own hand in front of her face, which, with the knowledge that Vader might currently be hunting her, was unsettling.

More than anything, she wanted to be back on Alderaan. She wanted to find her crystals and get off of this planet, to reunite with Padmé and Lux and the rest of the rebels, the people who valued her and made her feel safe. She thought of when she'd embraced Padmé before travelling to Ilum and the desperate way she had pleaded with Ahsoka to come back alive. Then she thought of Vader dragging her out of the cave and onto his ship, or whispering another sleep suggestion to her before she even had time to realize that he was there, and both fear and rage poured through her as she realized that it was a very real possibility. But why? Why was he going out of his way to make her miserable? Why couldn't he just leave her _alone?_

A quick coruscation, almost like a little wink, caught her attention from only a few metres away, pulling her abruptly out of her train of thought. Ahsoka's heart palpitated, and she trembled a little in anticipation. _Could it be?_ The Force was whispering for her to come, tugging her towards the glimmer as if she were on a string, but it still took her a few moments to become aware of the fact that her feet were moving. She had almost reached the source of the shimmer when she noticed something else: an unfamiliar yet strong presence in the Force that just barely brushed against the edges of her consciousness.

Ahsoka's heart stopped beating for a moment. She slammed up as many shields as she could and pressed herself against the nearest wall, trying to quiet her breathing. _They're here,_ she thought, and despite the freezing weather, a cold sweat broke out across her forehead. It wasn't just a _him_ anymore, it was a _they_. Vader had come here with other Force-sensitives in tow.

Another bout of panic flared up and lodged itself in Ahsoka's throat. _Don't,_ she reminded herself, as it threatened to overwhelm her. _Don't freak out. It won't accomplish anything._ Instead, she tried to push her terror to the side, closed her eyes, and centred herself, praying to the Force for whatever help it could give her. It was a strange experience, as Obi-Wan had focused more on meditation in her training, but she did feel a bit calmer by the time that she was finished.

A female voice reached her montrals, quiet and hard to make out, some of the words inaudible. If Ahsoka, even with her enhanced Togrutan hearing, couldn't quite understand what was being said, she figured the woman still had to be somewhat far away. Relieved, she exhaled slowly and loosened her posture, sparing a glance at that little incandescent spark. _Come,_ it urged her, glittering tantalizingly, and the tempo of its song increased. _Come, Ahsoka, come._

Ahsoka took a steadying breath, trying to keep her legs from trembling as she eased herself away from the wall and towards the shimmer. Instinctively, her right hand hovered near her hip, as if to reach for a blaster that she had left behind on Alderaan. She did not necessarily regret this, as she knew it would do no good against Force-sensitives, but both her lack of weapons and the fact that she had left her hiding place made her feel horribly exposed.

Her heart shot up to her throat as she thought she heard something _crack,_ like a foot against a twig. It took her a moment too long to remember that there _were_ no twigs in the crystal cave. But ice. There was plenty of ice. _Ice_ could crack. Ahsoka felt as if she might throw up her insides. Her heart was thundering against her ribcage so hard that lightheadedness washed over her.

 _I can't go back there,_ she thought desperately. _Not with him. I can't. I_ won't _._

At last, she could stand the thrumming suspense no longer. She lifted herself onto her tiptoes and all but ran for what she sorely hoped were her crystals. But in her carelessness, one of her footsteps fell too hard upon the ice, and she winced, clamping one hand over her own mouth to suppress a gasp. And then, shivering at the tension that pounded in the Force, she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Nothing. Nobody had heard her. She didn't think.

Cautiously, she lifted one foot and took a minuscule step forward. When nothing planet-shattering happened, she took another. And another. _There you go, Ahsoka,_ she told herself, even though she was still convinced that she might vomit. _You can do this._

The crystals—or whatever were shimmering brilliantly and calling to her—now appeared to be within her reach, but when she outstretched a hand, she found she was too short to quite grasp them, even on her tip-toes. A feral scream built up inside of her, and in her momentary despair, hot tears briefly stung her eyes. She wasted a few precious seconds deliberating whether she _would_ have been able to reach them, had Force-forsaken Emperor Vader not stunted her height. Then she had to remind herself that right now, hypotheticals wouldn't help her. There was no way she could grow considerably taller in five seconds, so she would have to consider other options. She thought of telekinetically retrieving her crystals but then remembered from her Jedi text that the crystal cave would make her do it by hand. So that left her with only one other conceivable way of going about this.

She would have to climb.

 _Oh, Force help me,_ she thought, setting her book on the ground, removing her gloves, and grasping onto the nearest handhold she could find. Given that she could only see by the scarce light of her crystals, however, said handholds were difficult to locate, and the minimal traction of the ice meant that she'd be more susceptible to slipping. She grit her teeth and pulled herself further up the wall—Force, the crystals really were higher off the ground than they had initially looked—but then she couldn't quite find a left handhold quickly enough, and under the strain of supporting her entire body weight, her right hand lost its grip. A sharp, almost strangled gasp escaped Ahsoka's throat, and, without sparing any time to think, she dug her fingernails into the ice to catch herself. Miraculously, the falling stopped, but her heart still pounded restlessly and she felt as if all of the air had been sucked from her lungs. Force, that had been close.

Shakily, Ahsoka peered over her shoulder. The crystals cast a hazy shimmer over her nearest surroundings, enough for her to determine that at this point, falling would cause her serious injury. It went without saying that that was something she could not afford. Swallowing hard, she looked back up at the crystals. They didn't appear to be any closer to her than they had been while she was still on the ground. Were they travelling upwards along _with_ her?

She could practically hear Obi-Wan's voice in her head, whispering, _"Patience, Padawan, patience."_ She pursed her lips tightly together. Patience wasn't going to do her much good, not when she knew there were other Force-sensitives nearby and it was turning out to be nearly impossible to acquire her crystals. But then again…

Her book had spoken of trials such as these. Trials of _character_. And maybe…this was supposed to be her final test. Perhaps, the more frantically she tried to reach her crystals, the farther they would travel. The cave was forcing her to prove that even under such pressing circumstances, she could still be patient, as a Jedi should.

The ideology behind it was cruel, she decided, but nonetheless, she closed her eyes and prodded gently into the Force, hoping for its mercy. She told herself again that she trusted it, because she was a Jedi and she knew of the strength of the Light Side. Her crystals' song swelled in volume, and she was seized suddenly by a breathless burst of inspiration that seemed to have been ushered in by the music. "I trust you and I need you," she whispered to the Force. "I _need_ you to help me. I can't do it on my own. Please, please…"

A sense of warmth and calm flooded through her, effortlessly hushing her pleas, as if the Force itself were saying, _Okay._ Ahsoka opened her eyes and saw that her crystals—yes, she could tell now that that's definitely what they were—were within her reach, twinkling so radiantly that she almost couldn't look directly at them. Their song thrummed gloriously around her like an orchestral fanfare, and yet, somehow, Ahsoka still had the impression that it was meant only for her—that if someone else were present, they wouldn't be able to hear it.

She reached out with one hand and carefully detached her crystals from the ice wall. Their song swooped into a decrescendo, fading completely out of existence as their light dimmed. But they were cool against the palm of Ahsoka's hand—real, they were real!—and for a moment, she felt just as giddy and empowered as she had upon finding her lightsabers in the treasury all those months ago. As she tucked the crystals into the safety of her coat pocket and climbed back down to the ground, she could think only of how this felt like the start of something new.

She made it back to what she thought might have been her previous hiding spot—though, with the light of her crystals gone and the chamber almost completely shrouded in darkness, she couldn't quite be sure. Ahsoka knelt down, unzipped her coat, and removed the pouch of metal from her belt, tugging on the drawstring and pouring the pieces onto the ground. Then she removed the crystals from her pocket and set them carefully side by side.

Taking a deep breath, Ahsoka closed her eyes and constructed a mental image of what she wanted her first hilt to look like: sleek, elegant, and practical, with maybe a few details that would differentiate it from other sabres. Wide enough in diameter to allow her a secure grip, but not so large that her hand would ache if she held it for too long. The Force quivered around her as she telekinetically lifted the pieces of metal. In her mind's eye, she watched them slide through the air to meet each other, and then there were several simultaneous _clicks_.

Ahsoka opened her eyes to find that the pieces had neatly locked together, and floating in the air before her was a completed lightsaber hilt. She reached out and curled her fingers around the handle, the metal cool and smooth against her skin. A chill of excitement trickled down her spine. In the darkness of the chamber, she couldn't quite make out the sabre's finer details, but she knew that it was beautiful. The pieces of metal had been gifted to her by Breha and Bail Organa—an assortment of silver and white gold, because they had insisted and she had felt it would be rude to decline—but even if it had been made out of scrap metal, it would still have been beautiful, simply because it was _hers_.

She was holding a lightsaber. A real lightsaber that _she_ had made, and not only that, but a lightsaber that she had made _after_ Order 66 and her memory loss and her struggle to regain her identity. She almost wanted to cry of happiness, because it felt like the epiphany of triumph. She had won against so many impossible odds, and now the proof was resting in her palm.

Trembling, Ahsoka slid her new lightsaber onto her weapon belt. When she shifted her weight, it brushed gently against her left hip, and it just felt so undeniably _right,_ and breathless joy was welling up inside of her and she could almost forget that there were people close by who could snatch it all away in an instant. But that kind of forgetting was dangerous, she knew, so she forced herself to focus on completing her second lightsaber and then, once that was finished, getting as far away from Ilum as was physically possible.

She was in the midst of the meditation required to build her second sabre when the female voice from earlier once again edged into her earshot. Ahsoka's eyes flew open and, as a result of her loss of concentration, the components of her second sabre clattered to the ground.

"—Shouldn't be _this_ difficult to find," the woman was grumbling. "She's supposed to be unconscious."

There was an infinitesimal hesitation. Then, "How do you know?"

Ahsoka's blood ran cold. She pushed herself further against the wall, suddenly grateful for the darkness's refuge. She had thought she would know that voice anywhere, but…she had to be wrong. There was no way the emperor was careless enough to bring _him_ along. Unless…

Unless he thought that Ahsoka was unconscious. Unless he thought that she would go down without a fight.

"Her captors called us themselves—on our way here, in fact," the woman said peremptorily. "They dragged her into the frame and she was completely limp. They were making all kinds of demands in exchange for her safety. That was why Emperor Vader and I had to speak alone on the bridge. He didn't want you to have to see your fiancée in such a state."

Ahsoka cursed under her breath. She had been right. It _was_ Prince Erosik. At least he would be easy to take. In fact, it might almost be fun, given that he was stupid enough to still believe the lies about her "kidnapping". She _was_ concerned, however, about the mysterious woman who was accompanying him. Had Vader recruited her specifically for this purpose? Ahsoka had a strong suspicion that she was the one who had sought her out in the Force earlier—and had almost succeeded. What else could she do? Would Ahsoka be able to match her?

"I thought the emperor said that there _was_ no ransom," the prince huffed.

"They weren't asking for _money,_ Your Highness," the woman said impatiently. "They called to make a series of political demands. Naturally, we could not fulfill their requests."

Ahsoka looked back down at the pieces of metal scattered across the ground. The voices were drawing closer, and she still hadn't finished her second lightsaber. Obi-Wan had spent so long teaching her Jar'Kai that she was nervous she might not stand a chance without it. She closed her eyes and sank back into meditation, doing her best to numb her own anxiety. Finally, the voices faded out of her consciousness, and it was only her and the components of her future lightsaber, guided towards each other by the pull of the Force.

It was right as she heard the final _click_ that the air was knocked from her lungs. Ahsoka felt her back lek slam against a wall of ice and slowly dragged her head upwards, realizing that she had been Force-pushed a considerable distance. Her new lightsaber—a shoto, as it was smaller than the last one—was lying about a metre away. Beyond that stood a Mirialan woman, her face bathed in the red glow of her twin lightsabers. She was a bit younger than Ahsoka had expected, but certainly just as terrifying. Her black hair was pulled into a slick ponytail, and she wore the uniform of an Imperial officer. Ahsoka's heart beat frantically as the woman met her gaze, her eyes flickering with a frightening eagerness.

"Well, well, well, Princess." She grinned, brandishing her sabres. "At last, we meet again."

* * *

 **I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, despite the cliffhanger. I was originally going to include the lightsaber duels in this chapter, but then I realized that I had already written over 9,000 words (like I said, this chapter turned out to be longer than I thought it would be), so I figured that I would save that for the next one. Hopefully, that gives you all something to look forward to. :)**

 **Please review! I appreciate every single one of your comments, even if it is just a sentence or two. They help to inspire me while I work on the next chapter. I promise I will try to get it up earlier than I did this one. :)**

 **Love, Isabelle**


	21. Chapter 21

**Hi, everyone! Thank you so much to your kind responses to the last chapter, I appreciated all of them so much. I will respond to your reviews and then we will get started with this next chapter. ;) As you all know, I do not own Star Wars. I also have a few lines in this chapter that make reference to a scene in _Star Wars Rebels,_ and I do not own those lines, either. This is a work of fanfiction.**

 **Jayfeathers Friend: Haha, same. I never found that quite fair. But at least I get to use her in my story! ;)**

 **HuffleHecate: Thank you so much! :)**

 **SilverDaye: Yay, I'm glad you liked the title drop! I have tried to make glass symbolic of the Empire, so to look "beyond the glass" would mean to look beyond the Empire's lies. In Chapter 13, Padmé and Ahsoka also have to break glass twice in order to escape the palace. Thank you for your review! :)**

 **Jedi Master Megan: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it; I enjoyed writing those scenes. :)**

 **FailToWinPRO: I have already sent you a private response to your review, but again, thank you so, so much. I appreciate all of the feedback I can get, and I was so grateful that you took the time to write such a long review. Thank you thank you thank you! :D**

 **PrincessNaina: *nervous laugh* I'm sorry! Luckily, the next chapter is up now. ;) Thank you so much for your review!**

 **Rexwriter123: Hahaha. ;) Here it is! Thank you for your review!**

* * *

Terror trickled through Ahsoka slowly, like the drizzle that comes before the rain. For a moment, it was all so unreal that she could have believed this might be another Force illusion, if not for the fact that she had already acquired her crystals. She became painfully aware of the precious seconds ticking away, of the Mirialan woman's gaze boring dangerously into hers, and even though she urged herself to do something— _something, anything, Ahsoka!_ —her body wouldn't obey her commands. The woman's last words kept running through her head: _We meet again._ So they had obviously encountered each other before in her old life. If only she could remember who this woman was and why she seemed to hate Ahsoka so much.

The two women held each other's gazes, neither of them willing to even blink. The tension in the air thickened until it was almost stifling. Then Ahsoka lunged forward and outstretched a hand, urging her shoto to come towards her, but before it could, the woman extinguished one of her sabres, raised her arm, and curled her fingers as if around a cylindrical object. A gasp ripped from Ahsoka's throat as she was yanked off the ground and into the air, and strangely enough, she felt the sting of panic before she realized that it was because she couldn't breathe. Her own fingernails bit and scratched against her throat, and the pressure on her windpipe increased until black globs cropped up in her vision, and she tried desperately for oxygen before the darkness overcame her, but she _couldn't,_ she couldn't breathe she couldn't breathe she—

—Fell. The pressure subsided and she fell.

Pain swelled in her hip and shoulder, but it didn't matter because she had been dropped to the ground and—thank the Force!—could breathe again. Ahsoka gasped for air, almost crying with relief, but then her head was yanked upwards, and she realized that the woman was now right in front of her and had a tight grip on her chin.

"The emperor wouldn't want me to damage Her Imperial Highness too badly," she whispered, dragging her thumb along Ahsoka's cheek. "Not yet, anyway. Pity, isn't it?"

Ahsoka was filled, suddenly, by a strong desire to lash out. She wanted to strangle this woman and demand that she leave her alone. Instead, she just pulled away and glared at her. "Why are you working for the emperor? What do you hope to gain by capturing me?"

The woman stared at Ahsoka as though shocked that she would even need to ask that question. "Come on," she hissed. "You and I both know that I've got a score to settle."

"Oh," Ahsoka said simply.

Her answer must not have satisfied the woman, because her lips curled into a scowl. "Stupid girl," she muttered under her breath, snatching Ahsoka by the collar of her tunic and hauling her roughly to her feet. "I guess the emperor likes you that way, hmm? Makes his job a little easier. Speaking of which, he'll be quite happy to see you again."

Ahsoka had no doubt that he would. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't going to. Her lightsaber, still hidden by the unzipped portion of her coat, bumped against her hip as the woman dragged her away from her hiding spot. They passed Ahsoka's shoto, lying abandoned on the ground, and the woman wrinkled her nose, kicking it disdainfully to the side.

Ahsoka walked with her for a few more seconds, keeping her gaze trained firmly on her toes. She opened herself up to the Force just a little bit, enough so that the woman would be able to sense some of her fear. It seemed to work. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vader's agent turn to look at her. A twisted sort of satisfaction was practically emanating from her, and after another moment, she loosened her grip on Ahsoka's collar. "He's really broken you, hasn't he?" she said, sounding almost fascinated. "For once, you know when you've lost."

"I do," Ahsoka murmured. Then she wrenched away from the woman's grip as swiftly as she could, shrugging off her coat and igniting her lightsaber. "And I haven't lost yet."

The teal blade beamed against the darkness of the cave, and it occurred to Ahsoka that she had not known its colour before now. _Teal._ She had never seen a teal lightsaber before, at least not in the holovids she had watched. During the Clone Wars, most of the Jedi had used blue and green sabres. But teal, she realized with a burst of contentment, was a mixture of those colours. It connected her to the entire Jedi Order while still allowing her to retain her individuality.

Vader's agent must have been thinking something similar; her eyes narrowed into confused slits as she drew one of her own lightsabers. Ahsoka took advantage of her brief moment of weakness and threw herself at the Mirialan woman, slamming her lightsaber blade down upon hers. The _hiss_ they made upon contact seared in Ahsoka's montrals, and just briefly, she was able to grasp the fleeting genuineness of the moment: she was in the midst of a lightsaber duel, in which the only thing keeping her alive would be her own skills and quick thinking.

The woman shoved the teal lightsaber blade off of her own, but Ahsoka spun backwards gracefully, just barely avoiding one of the Mirialan's own attacks. Then, gripping her sabre a little tighter, she charged and swung at the woman's left shoulder. She caught Ahsoka's blade and pushed back, a grin slicing across the bottom half of her face. "You're still using your reverse grip?" she taunted. "That's cute." Ahsoka ignored her, bringing her blade quickly above her head and slicing downwards, but Vader's agent parried that strike, too. "Remember the last time we did this? Before I pushed you into the warehouse with the nanodroids?" The woman snorted, casually extending a hand to propel Ahsoka backwards with the Force. For one terrifying moment, she lost all sense of direction, and then she skidded to a stop on her knees, the hilt of her lightsaber still warm in her hand. "You fought with about as much precision and technique as someone might drunk. Unfortunately, you don't appear to have greatly improved."

Ahsoka just looked up at her, her expression blank. Something shifted in the woman's eyes upon her lack of a reaction, but before she could say anything else, or execute another attack, a male voice cut into the conversation. "Commander Offee! What are you doing?"

The woman—Offee, Ahsoka assumed her name was—stiffened in what looked to be rage, and her gaze locked onto somebody standing behind Ahsoka. She already knew, of course, who it was, but she turned around anyway. Prince Erosik hovered in the threshold, his dark eyes darting wildly between the two women. Offee barked something about having ordered him to stay behind, but he paid her no heed. "Soka," he breathed instead, staring at her as if she might be a ghost. But his shock quickly wore off. Only a moment later, he stalked towards her and dug his fingernails into her left wrist, trying to yank her to her feet. His grip was tight, unbreakable. Possessive. All of the old hatred she had once felt in his presence flooded back in, and a scream built up in her throat. She wouldn't do what he wanted. She wouldn't stand.

At last, she forced him to kneel down to her level. "We're going to bring you back to the palace on Coruscant, okay?" he murmured, and despite the ostensible gentleness of his voice, she didn't miss the almost violent undertone that rippled beneath the façade. "Come _on,_ Soka. I know that you're scared. But you're safe now. You're coming with us."

"Your Highness, leave her," Offee ordered. "They've corrupted her—"

 _Corrupted._ That was a funny word for "reintroduce somebody to their true identity and show them that they don't have to put up with poor treatment anymore". Ahsoka snatched away her wrist and climbed to her feet, backing away and igniting her lightsaber. "Don't _touch_ me," she bit out, watching in satisfaction as Erosik's jaw dropped. "Never touch me again."

He stood as well, trembling slightly. "Soka—"

"Unless you want to lose a hand," she warned darkly.

Raging tension insinuated itself between them. She hoped that he knew she was deadly serious. She hoped that he felt as though daggers were shooting through him whenever he looked at her eyes. "What have they done to you, Ahsoka?" he said at last.

"What have they _done_ to me?" she repeated incredulously. "'They' haven't done anything. 'They' don't exist. 'They' are fictional scapegoats created by the emperor. No. It was all you and Vader. Forcing me to be someone I wasn't. Treating me as though I wasn't really a person, as though I _belonged_ to you, and then passing it off as 'love'. Remember when you'd come into my room and stare at me while you thought I was asleep? Even though I'd already asked you never to do that again? Because _I_ remember. I remember everything you did."

Erosik's gaze was glued onto hers now, and he had become even paler than normal. Ahsoka was already trembling with anger, so she closed her eyes and tried to release it into the Force. It was justified, she knew, but it would unbalance her if this were to descend into a fight. Finally, waves of calm lapped against the edges of her consciousness, and she opened her eyes.

Something else was now writhing within Erosik's weak Force presence: incredulity. Frustration. Anger of his own. As though _he_ had a right to be angry about this whole situation. "We've been waiting for you, Soka," he ground out. "We've been worried sick about you, all of us. And the entire galaxy is waiting for us to get married. We have to."

Ahsoka followed his gaze to an extinguished electrostaff that hung from his left hip. So now he was considering attacking her. His mistake. She widened her stance, slipping effortlessly into a defensive position. "I'm not coming back with you, Your Highness," she said. "That's final."

He slid his gaze back up to hers, his dark eyes steely and tempestuous. He reminded her so much of Anakin in that moment that she had to blink a few times to get the image to leave her head. "Then I'll make you," he said gravely, pulling his electrostaff from his belt.

A fleeting smirk touched Ahsoka's lips. He would _make_ her. Sure. She had been hoping he would say that. Now he was ensnared.

She stood her ground, giving him the chance to attack first. Unsurprisingly, in his recklessness, he shot across the chamber, slamming his electrostaff down upon her lightsaber with such ferocity that sparks flew from both of their weapons. For him, this entire fight would be driven by rage. He would be trying to intimidate her, trying to get her to surrender as soon as possible. But Ahsoka was more careful, more cunning, and had better training, control, and technique. All she had to do was find a way to turn his anger against him, and she would win.

She slid her blade out from underneath his, swinging it to the right, but he just barely managed to parry the blow. Ahsoka grit her teeth together and gripped the hilt with both hands, changing the angle of her sabre just slightly so that the tip grazed Erosik's shoulder. A sharp scream, quick and abrupt as a hiccup, pierced the air. Ahsoka used the distraction to her advantage, flinging herself off of the ground and spiralling elegantly over Erosik's head.

The world seemed to crystallize into a frozen moment as she hovered vertically in mid-air, feet directly above her head, posture as straight as a rod, lightsaber out in front of her with the tip pointed directly towards the ground. Then the fleeting illusion whisked out of existence, and she was falling again, but this time, she was in control. The tip of her lightsaber made contact with Erosik's back, but she didn't watch the damage it inflicted. She arched her body so that she was in the shape of a bridge, her arms and lightsaber still extended behind her head.

When she finally rolled onto her feet, she straightened her spine, brought her sabre back to her side, and turned around. A long, angry gash snaked down Erosik's back, the expensive fabric of his jacket split open to reveal his injury. His shoulders heaved as he spun around to look at her, his eyes flashing murderously. "I came here to _rescue_ you, Princess."

Ahsoka's gaze flicked to the space behind him. A wall. She had him cornered now. "It's not a rescue if I don't want to come with you. You're here to capture me."

He shook his head slowly, tufts of dark hair tumbling into his eyes. She could have sworn that she heard a growl rising in his throat. "Do you know how many girls would have _killed_ to have the kind of life that you did before? Why would you throw that away?"

Ahsoka didn't answer. She didn't answer because even if she did, he would never understand. He would never understand that even though she had been named an "Imperial princess", she had existed mainly as an accessory. He would never understand that beneath the glamourous, glittery façade of status and wealth and prestige, everything had been perfectly designed to keep Ahsoka in line—to punish and humiliate her, even. And if he could understand that, then he would never admit it, because that meant he had consciously played into Vader's hands.

Instead, she drove him towards the wall, repeatedly bringing her blade down upon his. He parried almost frantically, and she could tell that he was falling behind. She was too quick for him, too skilled. "Are you duelling or dancing?" she taunted, even though she knew that Obi-Wan probably wouldn't approve. "Because if it's the latter, then I'm definitely leading."

In response, Erosik just grit his teeth together. That was fine. He could grit his teeth together all he wanted. She had pinned him against the wall now, the tip of her lightsaber hovering just above the wound on his left shoulder. "Surrender," she demanded.

His mouth fell open, but she wasn't sure whether it was in surprise or because he was about to speak. Before she could find out, though, the world blurred into streaks as she was telekinetically whisked backwards. Ahsoka grunted as she landed against someone else, an arm already around her waist and a crimson lightsaber to her neck. "Nice try, Princess," Offee said, vehemence bleeding into her tone. "But playtime's over. You're coming with us."

Before the commander could stop her, Ahsoka ignited her lightsaber and grazed Offee's leg, dodging out of her grip and pushing her sabre against hers. "I'm _not_ coming with you," she repeated, over-articulating her syllables so that her voice didn't shake.

Offee just snorted. "We've already destroyed your starfighter, Your Highness. Either you leave this planet with us, or you don't leave at all."

Ahsoka's stomach turned to ice, and her knees weakened from beneath her. She hadn't even thought of that possibility. It was imaginable that Offee was bluffing, but Ahsoka doubted it. Why _wouldn't_ the Empire destroy her only possible transport off of the planet?

Regardless, she straightened her posture, forcing herself to at least _seem_ confident. "That's fine with me," she spat, even as her heart galloped frenziedly. Not only was she currently on the defensive, she was also on the losing side of this duel. Offee was backing her towards the spot where her hiding place had once been, and Ahsoka could already tell that she was about to be pinned against a sharp-looking corner of the wall. "I would rather be free on a hostile ice planet than held captive in Emperor Vader's palace."

"I don't think you'd like it so much once you started dying of starvation," Offee mocked her, the words poison on her lips. Ahsoka tried to think of a response, but before she could, a wash of wooziness overcame her, and her body felt suddenly heavier. She had the vague sense of wanting to vomit, like she had after that piloting expedition—

 _Oh, no._ The realization crept fully into Ahsoka's mind, leaving her numb. _Oh, Force, no._

Offee swung her blade down towards Ahsoka's head, and though she managed to parry, the force of the blow knocked her to the ground. Blistering pain jolted through her back lek as her head slammed against the corner of the wall. She dragged her gaze upwards and saw that both Offee and Erosik were standing before her, their weapons ignited. _No. No. No no no no no._ For some reason, all she could think of was Padmé, pleading with her to come back alive.

Before Ahsoka could regain her senses, Offee telekinetically wrenched the lightsaber from her grip and turned sharply to Prince Erosik. "Knock her out," she ordered, nodding at his electrostaff. "I'll contact the emperor and tell him that we've located the princess."

Ahsoka hardly had time to panic before the electrostaff was jabbed into her ribcage. A bloodcurdling scream erupted from her throat as the electricity crackled mercilessly over her body. She had consciousness of nothing but the fact that she just wanted it to stop. When the pain finally receded, she could no longer move without trembling wildly. She had collapsed onto her side. Her breaths came in shallow, desperate gasps. Her eyes were wet. Erosik bent down to her level and cupped her cheek in his palm, resting his forehead against hers. Her instincts screamed at her to pull away, but she was shaking too much. "Come on, beautiful," he whispered. "I don't like hurting you. Just promise me that you'll come with us willingly—"

She shook her head, because she knew that he was lying. He did enjoy hurting her. He wanted vengeance for the injuries that she had caused him with her lightsaber. No matter what she said or did, he would electrocute her until she was unconscious and drag her back to Coruscant. She at least wouldn't give him the satisfaction of surrendering.

Erosik pulled away and frowned at her disappointedly. The violent quaking of her muscles was beginning to lessen, but it didn't matter, because he was already standing and reactivating the electrostaff, and she was so weak from the first electrocution that she knew she wouldn't be able to stay conscious for much longer. Her eyes darted frantically from Erosik to the open space behind him, as if she could commit this image to memory and look back upon it later to prove to herself that she had once stood up for what was right. But that was of no use, either. Vader would wipe her mind again as soon as she fell into his hands. When she woke up next, she might not be able to even remember who she was.

But then, as Erosik lifted the electrostaff above his head, she caught sight of it. A small, silver beacon of hope, resting in a crevice at the bottom of the wall after having been kicked to the side. Ahsoka couldn't breathe. The electrostaff was coming down upon her, and she was still trembling all over, but that hilt was lying there, glinting slightly, as if to give her a little wink. She felt like she was dragging herself through water as she just barely dodged the tip of the electrostaff, shooting her hand towards her shoto with a strangled scream of desperation. It swept through the air and settled against her palm, and she ignited it right as the electrostaff came crashing down. She lifted the shoto to block the blow, but the world was still spinning and her hands were shaking uncontrollably, and instead of locking with the electrostaff, the blade slipped past the weapon and plunged right through Erosik's stomach.

Ahsoka froze, save for an almost inaudible gasp of shock that escaped her lips. Slowly, she pulled her gaze upwards to meet Erosik's, surprised to find that his eyes were not violent or enraged but simply _stunned_. He stared at her like that for so long that she began to wonder if he was even conscious of what he was doing anymore. But then his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground with a _thud,_ the electrostaff tumbling from his grip.

Ahsoka extinguished the shoto and climbed shakily to her feet, unable to tear her eyes away from Erosik's corpse. The first thing that occurred to her, for some reason, was that this meant that she was no longer engaged. The second thing that occurred to her was that she had just accidentally killed someone. The third thing that occurred to her was that Offee should have already contacted Vader, and now he would be coming for her.

She swept her gaze over her surroundings, but the commander was nowhere in sight. This could be her chance to run. Her chance to reach the cave's exit before they could find her. Maybe, if she was quick enough, she could steal their ship…

With one last furtive glance at Erosik, Ahsoka took off, racing past the threshold and through the adjacent hallways. She ran so quickly that she kept skidding along the ice and colliding with the walls, or maybe that was just because her head still ached and the world was revolving wildly around her. She wasn't sure whether the electrocution had caused her significant damage or if these were just more symptoms of her concussion. Or both. Stumbling slightly to the left, she ignited her shoto, hoping it would help to have a light source, but it didn't take her long to reach the glowing chamber where she had encountered Vader's Force hologram. Ahsoka exhaled slowly, and the tension seemed to leave her body. She was almost there.

She gave herself to the Force and willed it to guide her to the exit, following its whispers into chambers that grew increasingly brighter. As she ran, her legs regained most of their former strength, and the dizzy sensation at last began to subside. She turned a corner and the Force pounded with a promising intensity. _There. Run, Ahsoka._ She did. She ran. She knew the exit wasn't far. She skidded around another corner and she—

Froze.

Two figures loomed against the exit—an exit that was now completely frozen over. They gripped sabres that sliced through the darkness, each of their faces bathed half in crimson light and half in shadow. _No. No!_ The air fled Ahsoka's lungs, and she realized belatedly that she was shaking her head in denial. She wanted them to be hallucinations. She wanted their images to curl away like drifting smoke, she wanted the ice to drip into water until the exit was open again, she wanted to get _off_ of this Force-forsaken planet! But when she reached out, she felt each of their signatures thrash in the Force, and a desperate kind of claustrophobia overcame her.

The man took a broad step in her direction, and the red light of his sabre bled slowly over the rest of his features. Ahsoka's heart clenched, even though she had already known who it was. "Where is your fiancé, Princess? Is there a reason he hasn't been responding to our calls?"

Ahsoka bit her lip. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say.

Emperor Vader chuckled darkly, continuing to approach her. Ahsoka took a few steps back, grasping her shoto tightly, though the hilt had already become sweaty in her palm. "You took care of him?" he guessed. His grin stretched one corner of his mouth upwards before touching the other one. "You do know, Your Highness, that under this Empire, punishment for murder ranges from execution to life imprisonment—"

"It wasn't murder," Ahsoka bit out. "I was trying to defend myself. He was electrocuting me. If you want to talk about murder, then tell me why you annihilated the entirety of the Jedi Order."

"The Jedi were corrupt," he growled instantly—a practiced response. "They were warmongers. They didn't care about anyone but themselves."

"And how is that any different from you?"

He had been advancing towards her, but now he stopped, as abruptly as if he had hit a wall. A sickly shade of yellow crept into his eyes, his features twisted so gruesomely by anger that he looked as though he were about to burst. "You ungrateful little brat!" he roared, and now he was rocketing towards her, his lightsaber blade sizzling against hers before she'd even had time to realize what was happening. "I have an entire _galaxy_ to rule, Princess, and I've spent the last month of my life searching for you and Empress Amidala! You think I don't _care_ about you?"

"You never would have tortured me if you cared about me!" Her volume was almost as loud as his now, and though a voice in the back of her head warned her against losing her temper, she ignored it. She slammed her lightsaber down upon his, quaking with rage. "You never would have stripped me of my identity! You never would have basically imprisoned me in your palace! If you had cared about me, you would have let me go." Haziness flooded her vision, and she realized that her eyes were watering. For just one moment, the heat of anger lost its grip on her, and she looked up at him almost pleadingly. "Like Anakin Skywalker did."

The words left her lips as a whisper, but Vader obviously heard them. He screamed in fury and shoved his blade more firmly against hers, leaning so close to her that their noses were almost touching. Ahsoka widened her stance and bent her knees, pushing back with all of her might. "Anakin Skywalker was weak," Vader hissed. "I destroyed him."

His animosity was contagious. Ahsoka thought of his impersonation of Anakin and was once again drowned in uncontrollable anger. _Weak?_ Anakin, at least according to Padmé, had taken it upon himself to train Ahsoka in a time of war, helping her to grow into a strong young woman. Vader had felt threatened by her and, in order to keep her from challenging him, had literally erased her sense of identity. How could he accuse Anakin Skywalker of being weak?

"Then I will avenge his death," she heard herself retort, yanking away her shoto and slicing toward the emperor's head. He just laughed, prepared to parry the strike long before her blade ever reached his. Everything was filling her with anger now, even how tall he was in comparison to her—with the boots he was wearing, he seemed to be almost twice her height. She hated the way he looked at her like she wasn't really a threat, like he thought she just had to get something out of her system and would surrender in a few seconds. Couldn't he see that she had risked everything to get away from him? Didn't he understand that she would fight tooth and nail for even a slim chance of retaining her freedom?

He went on the offensive, his strikes so violent and brutal that she knew he was trying to intimidate her. He forgot that she had defeated him once before. She ripped her blade away from his and took a few steps backwards, then ran towards him at full speed and propelled herself off of the ground. With some help from the Force, she rotated over his head and landed behind him, now closer to the exit of the cave than he was.

Ahsoka whipped around just in time to parry one of Vader's strikes, which had been aimed for her shoulder. He drove her forcibly toward the exit, his sabre nothing more than a blood-red blur, and she let him. The ice would melt from the heat of their lightsabers and she would be able to make her escape. She just had to hold him off for a few more seconds.

Their blades whizzed through the air in streaks of teal and red light, hissing and crackling as they slammed up against each other. Ahsoka was gasping for breath, trusting her instincts more than she trusted her mind, because otherwise, there was no time. She collided with the ice wall and instantly threw her arms out in front of her, pushing Vader back with her shoto. He grit his teeth and leaned closer, and she could see the sweat dribbling down his forehead, see the way it glistened in the light of his sabre and dampened the ends of his brown hair. It made him seem so…human. Not the ostensibly immortal monster from whom she and Padmé had been running. How could someone so human have done such terrible things?

"Tell me, Princess," Vader murmured, and even though he looked like he should have been out of breath, his voice betrayed nothing of the kind. The illusion of his humanity fizzled instantly out of existence. She hated him even more for it. "Tell me what you thought was going to happen. Did you truly believe that you and the empress would be able to permanently disappear, when I have spies everywhere? When you're living in a galaxy that belongs to me?"

Ahsoka bit down on her bottom lip, trying to fight the temptation of retaliating. The ice at the back of her lekku was growing warmer. She just had to be patient.

But Vader wouldn't let her. He lunged forward so that she was trapped against the ice wall, his lightsaber so close to her left montral that she almost didn't dare to breathe. "It's a shame, Princess, how easily you forget," he whispered. "I have allies at every turn."

Ahsoka heard her own gasp, felt her muscles clench, before she could consciously realize why. And then the crucial moment bled back into her memory, when she had skidded around the corner and there had been _two_ figures—but it was too late. Something smashed against the side of her head, an object so heavy that, for only a second, a wash of darkness overtook her.

But a second was too long. When she opened her eyes again, she could no longer feel the weight of her shoto in her hand, and both Vader and Offee were looking down at her, two grinning faces tainted by ugly crimson light. She opened her mouth in desperation—to say what, she did not know—but then the object came crashing down with full force, and her shriek of pain was cut short as she was wrenched from consciousness.

* * *

Padmé awoke with her left cheek smushed against the dashboard, the air around her tainted by the smell of something burning. With a gasp, she flew into a sitting position, grasping at the handlebars of her starfighter to steady herself. _Where was she?_ A quick glance revealed that she had had to crash land somewhere unfamiliar, given that her fighter had basically collapsed into ruins. Well, at least that would explain the burning.

A soreness in her cheek that she had hardly noticed before was now growing increasingly painful. She brushed her fingertips against it idly, startling when she felt dried blood. _Force. What in the universe had happened?_ She rubbed her temples and racked her brain for answers, but everything was hazy, and they were slow to come.

At last, she managed to drag the Battle of Ilum into memory. Yes. That was it. She had been tasked with leading the fighter squadron, but they had failed. _She_ had failed…

Padmé leaned her elbows against the dashboard, dropping her head into her hands. An ache built up in the back of her throat as hot tears pricked her eyes. She hadn't broken the blockade, and so many people had died under her command, and Ahsoka—

 _Ahsoka._

 _"_ _Our casualties are too high!"_ She could still hear Breha Organa's voice in her memory, buzzing slightly abnormally as it came through her comm. _"I am ordering all of you to retreat, now."_

The rest of Padmé's squadron had obeyed, of course. But not Padmé herself. _"What about Ahsoka?"_ she had yelled into her comm. _"I'm not leaving without her!"_

 _"_ _Padawan Tano will be fine. She has hyperspace rings and will be able to escape on her own. You do not, General Amidala. I am ordering you to board this cruiser right now."_

Padmé winced as she remembered how she had refused. Even with explosions and laser bolts bursting around her, even though the Rebellion's forces had been completely surrounded by TIE fighters and Star Destroyers, she had _had_ to know Ahsoka was safe before she would get on the cruiser. Finally, Bail had contacted her and managed to talk her into saving herself. _"You can't do anything more for Padawan Tano, Padmé. The most you can do for her at this point is to get to safety. She would be devastated if you pointlessly sacrificed yourself for her."_

Padmé had had to drag the words out of her mouth, but nonetheless, she had quietly agreed. She and Bail had been the last ones to board Breha's cruiser, and as they had approached, she had told the Alderaanian queen that she could begin to close the hangar doors. _"We'll be right there, Breha. Don't worry about us. Just be ready to jump to hyperspace."_

Sighing at her own stupidity, Padmé climbed out of the pilot's seat, disentangling herself from chunks of debris. She then tried to clamour out of the fighter but leaned her weight too heavily on her right foot. A spasm of pain jolted through her, and she had to dig her fingernails into her palms to bite back a scream. After having recovered somewhat, she ran a careful hand along her right thigh, horrified to find that it was coated in blood. A piece of rubble, maybe even metal, must have cut into her leg and left a large gash. She ripped a small piece of fabric from the bottom of her tunic and tied it tightly around her thigh, trying to staunch the bleeding.

If only she had listened to Breha from the beginning. She and Bail would have been able to board the cruiser before that TIE fighter had interfered, knocking them both out of the way right as the ship jumped to hyperspace. They never would have been chased from the Unknown Regions to the Outer Rim, forced to crash land on some barely inhabited moon because they had no hyperspace capabilities, no more fuel, and nowhere else to go.

 _Raada._ That was the name of the moon. She vaguely remembered seeing the word flash across her navicomputer. As a senator, she had had to learn in depth about countless planets and moons, and even she could not recall this one. That meant that this Raada was hopelessly remote. At least Anakin would have a difficult time finding her.

 _Anakin._ Padmé's stomach clenched at the thought of him landing on Ilum's surface. He had gone there to capture Ahsoka, she was sure of it. She could only pray that the girl had gotten off of the planet safely and would be able to find her way back to the Rebellion. And if not…

No. She couldn't think like that.

After another few minutes, Padmé succeeded in heaving the roof of the starfighter to the side and scrambling out of the cockpit. Finding Bail would be her first priority. He had been alongside her the entire time, after all, so he couldn't be too far away. "Bail!" she called, limping slightly on her right leg as she stumbled away from her starfighter. Her eyes raked over her surroundings, but she saw nothing but farmland. This was probably an agricultural moon, then, and Padmé didn't know the first thing about farming. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. It had been in a braid but was now beyond hope of redemption, dirty and sticky with blood.

"Bail!" she called again, her voice raspy from disuse. "Bail! Where are—"

"I'm here, Padmé." A weight lifted from her shoulders as she turned in the direction of his voice. He had a few lines under his eyes, a testament to his exhaustion, but other than a couple of cuts and bruises, he appeared to be uninjured. He walked towards her, clearly not quite as satisfied by her condition. "What happened?" he asked, gesturing to her right leg.

"It's fine," she insisted. "I think it got caught in the wreakage. But it will heal. I've had worse."

Bail scoffed. "Maybe we should have just landed on Scipio."

Padmé shook her head. Scipio had been their first option, but they hadn't been quite as desperate at that point and she had wanted to land on a planet where she wouldn't be too recognizable. After the relatively recent incident with Rush Clovis and the Banking Clan, Scipio no longer fit that criteria. "It will be more difficult for the Empire to find us here."

"And the Rebellion," Bail added wryly.

Padmé swallowed hard. Her throat felt like sandpaper. "Your comm's not salvageable?"

"My entire fighter's a wreak, unfortunately." He sighed, threading a hand through his hair. It had fared better than hers. "And given your condition, I don't think I even need to ask—"

"They've got to have some sort of intergalactic transportation," she cut him off.

"Not necessarily. Not on a moon this small. And besides, how would we pay for it?"

Padmé opened her mouth to respond but realized that she didn't have an answer. She was so used to financial stability that the question hadn't even crossed her mind. Embarrassed and disappointed in herself, she looked away from him, only for her gaze to fall upon a human girl in the distance. She seemed to notice Padmé, too, for she stopped walking and straightened her posture. "We've been spotted," she murmured to Bail. "Should we leave?"

"No," he replied. "Let's see what she has to say. It might help to make some friends."

Padmé nodded and stepped forward to meet the girl as she came running up to them. She looked to be around Ahsoka's age, maybe a little younger, with dark skin and dark brown hair that she wore in braids. "Hi!" she said cheerily, but her eyes kept wandering to the ruins of Padmé's starfighter and then to her injured leg. "Are—are you all right?"

Padmé tried to laugh. "Yes. I had to make a bit of an…unexpected landing."

The girl nodded in understanding. "We don't get many newcomers around here. Though the harvest is coming up in a few weeks, so if there's any good time to be on Raada, it's now." Then she grimaced, biting her lip. "The bad news is that there's not much in terms of medical care around here. Not unless you want to go bankrupt, that is. But I know someone who might be able to help you with your leg, if you follow me."

Padmé glanced over her shoulder at Bail, and he nodded and came to her side. They trailed after the girl, who soon revealed that her name was Kaeden Larte and that she was, as Padmé had suspected, a farmer. "Most people on Raada are," she explained, gesturing to the plots of farmland around them. "What about you? What are your names? Where are you from?"

"I'm Teckla Minnau," Padmé blurted out. Then she cringed internally at how quickly the name of her old handmaiden had come to her lips. But it was a better pseudonym than Sabé, Yané, or Dormé. Teckla had died on Scipio during the Clone Wars and had never served as an Imperial handmaiden. Hopefully, the name would be less recognizable to the emperor—and besides, given that the location of Teckla's death was relatively close, it gave her a plausible story. "I was presumed dead on Scipio, but I survived and escaped with the help of my friend Gregar here." She jerked her head toward Bail, hoping he was okay with the code name she had picked out for him. "I came here hoping to lay low. You see…"

Kaeden had stopped walking and was looking at her curiously. Padmé wrung her hands, debating whether or not to bring herself up. "…I took part in a conspiracy against the Banking Clan alongside Senator Padmé Amidala. I fear I've made myself many enemies amongst—"

 _"_ _Senator_ Amidala?" Kaeden repeated, and Padmé's heart sank. She could tell from her intonation that she knew exactly who Senator Amidala was and couldn't understand why "Teckla" wasn't referring to her as an empress. The grime, blood, and scratches from Padmé's crash would probably disguise her sufficiently well for the time being, but now she knew that she would have to be extra careful about hiding her identity.

"Yes," she replied blankly, as if she hadn't noticed Kaeden's confusion. Teckla had gone missing during the Clone Wars and would not know of the Empire's existence.

Kaeden shot her a dubious side glance, but Padmé was grateful that she didn't press for more details, even if it came at the cost of a heavy silence. After another few minutes, they stopped in front of what appeared to be their destination. "This is Selda's," Kaeden said quietly. "He knows best what to do in these kinds of situations." Then her voice dropped to a near whisper, and her eyes flicked to the ground. "He was in an accident of his own a long time ago."

Padmé frowned. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to that accident, something that had involved Kaeden personally, but the girl had respected her privacy, so she would respect hers. She followed her past the threshold of the building, expecting to find herself in a foyer or living room, but stopped in her tracks as she registered the scene in front of her. Every millimetre of space seemed to be packed, as if the moon's entire population had crowded itself into this one room. People were smushed around tables, literally shoulder-to-shoulder, standing and sitting and eating and drinking. A sticky warmth poured over Padmé's skin, and she realized that she was already sweating from everyone's combined body heat.

It was a cantina, but unlike the ones she had seen on Coruscant. There was something missing, something that grated on her with the same insistence as an itchy gown or an aching wound. And then it hit her like a punch in the gut, and she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it before. There was no chatter. No music. A perfect hush blanketed the entire room, everyone's eyes glued to something at the front that she could not see.

Kaeden seemed to be thinking the same thing, for when Padmé glanced her way, she noticed that a shadow of confusion had ghosted over her face. The moment was broken as a small figure barrelled into Kaeden's arms—a young girl who looked like she might be related to her. In Padmé's opinion, she looked a little _too_ young to be in a cantina, but then again…after having served as Queen of Naboo at age fourteen, she was not in a position to judge.

"Miara," Kaeden whispered. "What is going on?"

The girl—Miara—looked up at her, her eyes twinkling with a playful sort of delight. "You're never going to believe it, Kaeden," she said. "They found the princess!"

 _The princess._ Padmé's eyes widened for some reason, but the words still swam idly in her ears, refusing to acquire any sort of meaning. _The princess…the princess…the princess of what?_ Then, abruptly, her blood turned to ice, and a violent chill ripped down her spine. _The princess. Ahsoka._ She clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle a scream, because she didn't know anything yet, it could be anyone, there were hundreds of princesses throughout the galaxy, if not thousands…"The _Imperial_ princess?" she demanded.

Miara turned to her as though noticing her presence for the first time. "Yeah," she replied, and Padmé's stomach dropped so quickly that the air whooshed out of her lungs. When she tried to inhale, she found herself unable to breathe. "Both of them, actually. And the crown prince, too."

 _Luke. Leia._ Padmé's leg muscles began to twitch wildly. She couldn't be here anymore. Anywhere but here. She needed to run. Maybe if she got far enough away from this place, she could find somewhere where it wouldn't be true. It _couldn't_ be true. Her children had been safe at the Alderaanian palace. And she had just seen Ahsoka…

 _Ahsoka._ She thought of the way she had laughed when she'd learned to fly a speeder for the first time, head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut, despite Padmé's insistence that she had to keep her gaze trained ahead while driving. She thought of the ferocity with which she had fought Anakin as they had escaped from the palace, even while clad in an impossibly heavy wedding gown. And then Padmé thought back to their time on Alderaan, but of the darker moments when she had awoken to a stifled whimper from across the room, and of soothing Ahsoka back to sleep after she had been wrenched awake by a nightmare—always a nightmare concerning Anakin. _"You're safe now,"_ Padmé had told her, holding her close and rubbing her shoulders, even when Ahsoka, still shaking slightly, had insisted that she was _fine_.

She didn't realize that she'd grasped onto Bail's arm until he was whispering her name into her ear. Her head jerked up, her gaze immediately locking onto his, and raw fear seeped into his eyes. She must have looked crazed—hair matted with blood and sweat, cuts across her face and a gash along her right thigh, eyes saturated with terror and guilt. But she couldn't have cared less. None of it mattered when _Ahsoka_ was in his grasp. None of it mattered when all of the beautiful things that had made her who she was could be wiped away in an instant.

 _Thirty-four minutes. Thirty-four minutes straight._

Padmé tore away from Bail as her own words came to mind, and now the breaths were coming _too_ quickly, so quickly that she was hyperventilating. _Oh, Force. Force Force Force Force Force._ How long had she been out? How long? Minutes? Hours? Long enough for him to have brought her back to Coruscant? Long enough for him to have already erased her memory?

A cold sweat burst across Padmé's forehead as she looked to Kaeden. She was staring at the front of the room now, too, a blush rising rapidly in her cheeks. _The front._ That was how she would know. Padmé shoved numbly past the sweating bodies, tripping over her own feet and murmuring flat apologies, repeatedly swallowing back the vomit that was rising in her throat. Why Ahsoka? Why Luke, why Leia? Why everyone she loved?

 _Take me, you coward!_ The words hovered on the tip of her tongue, as if they could do any good. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and still she pushed forward. _I would give myself for them, Anakin. You know I would. Just take me! Take me instead!_

At last, she managed to jostle her way through the crowd, stumbling forward a few paces as she was spit out of the masses. Padmé blinked rapidly, tears beading on her eyelashes. Her husband's image was emblazoned across a wide holoscreen, his jaw set and his still-blue eyes flickering. He stood on the main balcony of the Coruscanti palace, surrounded by guards and Imperial officers. She absently noted that he wasn't wearing his mask, as he normally did for public addresses, though a velvet cape snapped in the wind behind him.

A flash of coral caught in her peripheral vision, and Padmé's heart shot up to her throat. Sucking in a frantic breath, she lowered her gaze to the girl in the emperor's arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her eyes closed and her lips parted slightly. The skirts of her coral gown rippled delicately in the breeze, and long strands of diamonds snaked around her lekku and montrals, glimmering in the sunlight. One of her arms hung limply around his neck, the other one bent back at what appeared to be an uncomfortable angle, swinging in the wind like a pendulum. Padmé pressed her hands against her mouth as her knees crumpled from beneath her, battling back a scream. No. _No._ It couldn't be. She _couldn't_ be unconscious.

"Are you okay?" she heard a man say from behind her, but she ignored him. Let him think that she had had too much to drink, so much that she couldn't stand. Because she couldn't. She had collapsed into a crouching position, shivering uncontrollably, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Now that she thought about it, a drink _would_ be nice. Or two, or three, or four. Whatever it took to drown out this moment forever.

Padmé's eyes darted across the holoscreen. She located Leia and Luke in the arms of a steel-faced officer, and she couldn't understand why _he_ was holding them when they were _her_ children, when they should have been _hers_ to hold! By the time that Bail dropped to her side, Padmé's lips were moving in patterns that even she didn't recognize, her eyes still pinned to the holoscreen. _Ahsoka. Luke. Leia. No, no, no._

"Teckla," he said, loudly enough to grab the attention of a few surrounding crowd members. "Teckla, come on. You're drunk. Let's go home."

Padmé realized that he was giving her an out and climbed unsteadily to her feet, clutching onto Bail's hand for support. Anakin's voice exploded through the speakers like the boom of a cannon, but to her, the sound was so faint that it could have been drifting from another galaxy. It wasn't until she and Bail had reached the middle of the crowd that Padmé finally knew what she was trying to say, finally understood the words that were lingering on her lips. "I'm sorry," she gasped, almost inaudibly, but the tears streamed down her cheeks anyway, warm and wet and gooey. She didn't bother to wipe them away. She just let them run. "I am so, so sorry."

* * *

 **Okay, okay, please don't kill me! I promise I'm not as evil as I seem! Really! I promise! And I already have the next chapter started, so hopefully I will be able to post again soon. ;)**

 **With that being said, I would really love to know what you thought of this chapter in a review. Reviews give me inspiration and encourage me to write faster, so...it might help me to get the next chapter out sooner. Thank you so much to anyone who has already left a review and/or favourited/followed this story!**

 **Love, Isabelle :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**Hi, everyone. Sorry for the wait! I've been rehearsing for a musical over the past two months, and our performances were this weekend, so that kept me busy.**

 **Also, _The Clone Wars_ is coming back! Ahhh! There are no words to describe how happy I am about it. I found out literally a few hours after I posted the last chapter, and I was like, _Oh, great, now they're going to think I'm super out of the loop, haha._ Anyway, I've now watched the trailer, like, a billion times, so... ;)**

 **Some of you commented on the _Rebels_ dialogue in the last chapter. I realized that I should have given credit to Jedi Master Megan, who gave me the idea a few months ago. Thank you for your suggestion!**

 **I really appreciate all of your support, whether that comes in the form of favourites, follows, or reviews! I will respond to some of the reviews and then we will get on with the chapter. Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.**

 **HuffleHecate: Yay! I like the _Ahsoka_ book, too. I thought it would be kind of fun to have Padmé and Ahsoka switch places, in a sense. ;)**

 **Jedi Master Megan: Yay, thank you! I'm glad you liked it. :) Thank you for the suggestion!**

 **NinjaGirl1117: I've been looking forward to killing off Prince Erosik since I first introduced the character, haha. I agree with you that he was definitely a snob. Sorry for keeping you in suspense, but I'm glad you are enjoying the story. Thank you for your review! :)**

 **PrincessNaina: I know, I know, I'm sorry. ;) Thank you for your review!**

* * *

 ** _Half an Hour Earlier_**

Consciousness had grown gelatinous and thick, a substance through which she could only drag herself for short increments of time, lest she once again capitulate to her exhaustion. She had a brief, flickering memory of lying across someone else's lap, her head against their shoulder, a slight turbulence rocking them from below. Their arm had been wrapped tightly around her waist, as if to restrain her, but before she could muster the strength to even open her eyes, she had melted back into the beckoning darkness.

Now, she was lulled awake by a song that sounded like raindrops and water lilies, the scent of perfume wafting through the air. Ahsoka tried to breathe it in but found that her chest would not move all the way up and down. With an almost inaudible groan, she reached to place a hand on top of her stomach. Her fingers tangled in silk, but beneath the delicate fabric, she could feel the outline of something more rigid. _A corset._

Ahsoka gasped and ripped her eyes open, bolting into a sitting position. _Ilum._ Vader had captured her on Ilum. She grasped at her most important memories, trying to quell the flame of panic that had exploded inside of her. _My name is Ahsoka Tano. I was a Jedi Padawan during the Clone Wars. I am a close friend of General Padmé Amidala of the Rebellion…_

She could still remember the Rebellion. She could still remember the Jedi Order. Ahsoka sucked in a quick breath of relief—all she could manage with the corset clenched firmly around her upper body. It had been only a month, maybe a little more, since the last time she had worn one, yet she had grown so used to breathing like a normal person that she had almost forgotten how torturous it was to sip in air for hours on end.

Ahsoka flicked her eyes upwards. Staring back at her from the opposite wall was her own reflection, trapped behind the glass of a gilded mirror. Except that it wasn't _her,_ it was…it was the Imperial princess, another character whom Vader had created for his own purposes. Her eyes bore straight ahead, impassive and almost soulless. Diamonds dripped from her lekku and montrals. Her unsmiling lips shimmered with gloss the colour of blood.

It occurred to Ahsoka that she should have cried. She should have taken one glance at the repulsively made up stranger in the mirror and mourned all of the progress she had lost. But numbness had too much of a hold on her, accompanied by an adamant sort of disbelief. She had seen this girl so often in her nightmares that she could almost believe that's all this was. Unreal. Because that wasn't her. It _wasn't_. Padmé would wake her up in a minute and they would sneak out at dawn with a speeder. They would lower the roof and let their laughs carry over the wind, all remnants of Vader's regime forgotten.

Yet for whatever reason, Ahsoka still found herself scanning her surroundings, trying to ascertain exactly where she was. She had been placed on a settee sofa in an alcove so tiny that there wasn't even enough space for her feet to touch the floor. The alcove was sectioned off from the rest of the room by a ray shield, beyond which Ahsoka could see a bubbling fountain and marble flooring. It looked kind of like…kind of like a spa, maybe. She tried to twist her body to get a better view, but a wrenching pain ground against her hips, and she realized disgustedly that they had been chained to the sofa. Even without the restraints, though, she wouldn't have been able to make out much else. The dim, drowsy lighting cast the corners into shadow, cloaking most of the room from Ahsoka's view.

The gentle song that had pulled her into consciousness trickled to an end, replaced by another melody that was equally tranquil. _Tranquility._ That was it. Yes. That was how she would prove to herself that this was not real. Ahsoka closed her eyes and sought her own inner peace, trying to envelope herself in the energy field that undulated around her. She would find out why the Force wanted her to experience this vision, and then—

Abruptly, she came up short. Her lungs were a vacuum, sucked dry of any air. Everything, in fact—the gurgling water of the fountain, the oxygen she was trying to breathe, her own body—was arid, parched, devoid of any sort of life or connection. It was almost as if the Force had been…

 _No._

She thought of the needle— _the_ needle—burrowing possessively into her skin and muscle, and her fingertips drifted upwards to brush against her upper left arm. She lifted her shoulder, dropping it instantly as a familiar ache lanced through the muscle. As a princess, she had received the shot so often that the pain had eventually been rendered unnoticeable. But now, after a long month of freedom, agony licked at her upper arm like fire.

Ahsoka clamped both hands over her mouth, choking on a suppressed scream. Her mind branched out frantically, as if to grasp onto any plausible way that this might still be make believe, but there was nothing left except the truth. Vader had captured her, brought her back to Coruscant, and cut her off from the Force. It shouldn't have been surprising—in fact, deep down, she had known it all along—but for some reason, she started to shake and sweat in the Force's absence, sharp whimpers tearing from her throat. She craved it the way a person dying of thirst might crave water. She _needed_ it. It was a part of her now.

Raging frustration thrashed inside of her, and pressure built up behind her eyes. She tried to rub them with the back of her hand but yelped as something clawed viciously against her skin. Ahsoka splayed her fingers. A forest of rings and bracelets gleamed wickedly, not unlike Vader's yellow eyes. But it was as her gaze drifted to her left ring finger that her heart nearly stopped.

 _Her engagement ring._ Ahsoka opened and closed her mouth in shock, grasping for a feasible explanation. Not only had she killed Erosik on Ilum, she had given the ring to Atki Greyu. And Atki was supposed to have been imprisoned in the Alderaanian palace…

The thundering of footsteps suddenly reached Ahsoka's montrals, and she threw herself back into her unconscious position: head slumped to the side, eyes closed and lips parted, one arm dangling off the edge of the sofa. At that exact moment, the footsteps swelled in volume as multiple people entered the room, and the doors slammed shut. "…Told you we shouldn't have brought him along," a woman's voice was saying. _Commander Offee._ "I tried to protect him, but he wasn't prepared for that kind of fight. Not against her."

"She was supposed to have been unconscious," another voice growled, and chills prickled Ahsoka's skin. Anakin. _Vader._ "But it's no matter. If the little brat thinks she can get away with murdering her fiancé, then she's sorely mistaken." Ahsoka heard the ray shield flicker out, and then somebody was undoing the restraints around her hips. It crossed her mind that if she attacked now, she might be able to take them by surprise, but they hefted her into their arms before she could even begin to think through a strategy.

"Handmaiden!" Vader barked, and Ahsoka almost flinched at how his voice exploded in her montrals. He was the one holding her, then. "Hand me that choker. No. The diamonds and pearls. Yes. That one." An artificial wind fluttered Ahsoka's skirts as Vader carried her briskly across the room. Then something wooden creaked beneath his weight as he sat down, arranging her in his lap. She let her head fall languidly against his shoulder.

The choker bit into her skin as Vader twined it tightly around her neck. Someone else's footsteps pattered against the marble, rapidly increasing in volume. "What _is_ she?" Offee demanded. A hand brushed against Ahsoka's cheek. _Stop touching me!_ she wanted to scream, but she forced herself to bite her tongue. "Force, she looks so…convincing. But I'll tell you this, Your Imperial Majesty: she's not Ahsoka Tano. Is she a clone?"

"What makes you think she's not Ahsoka Tano?" Vader countered.

Offee huffed. "She wasn't surprised to see me. She never referenced me by name. It was as if she had never even met me before. And when I referenced the incident with the nanodroids and the warehouse, I didn't get so much as a flicker of recognition. Just a blank stare."

Vader paused, shifting Ahsoka slightly in his lap. "Interesting observations, Commander," he said. "But if she were a clone, as you say, then how do you think she would already be eighteen years old? Surely you're aware that accelerated aging doesn't work that quickly."

"Listen, I don't _know_ what she is," Offee spat. "All I know is that she's not the same girl I knew. And you told me that I would get my revenge on Ahsoka Tano."

It was one of those silences that was simultaneously defeaning, and Ahsoka had the strange urge to hold her breath until somebody spoke. "You would be right," Vader said finally, "in the sense that she is not Ahsoka Tano. Ahsoka Tano does not exist anymore. In fact, according to our records, she never existed. She has always been a princess of the Galactic Empire." Ahsoka could practically _feel_ the emperor's gaze as he examined her. It made her skin crawl. "For your purposes, however…she _is_ physically the same person you once knew. Just not mentally. I erased all memories of her life before the Great Jedi Purge."

He said it so matter-of-factly, it struck Ahsoka as offensive. Anger welled in her chest and burned at her throat, but somehow, she managed to swallow it. "Erased her memories?" Even Offee seemed shocked. "Via the Force? But under the Republic, that was—"

"This isn't the Republic," Vader snapped, and she fell quiet. "Drastic times call for drastic measures, and I did what I had to when it came to Ahsoka. Empress Amidala didn't understand that. She filled the princess's head with delusions—convinced her that I didn't have her best interests at heart. That's why she ran away on her wedding day." He sighed, stroking Ahsoka's lekku almost absentmindedly. She seethed at both his touch and his words. _Delusions._ Hadn't he just admitted that he had stolen her memories?

"I see," Offee said, almost uncertainly. Ahsoka wondered if maybe she had been thinking the same thing, until she added, "What are we going to do about Amidala?"

Ahsoka expected a growl to erupt from Vader's throat, followed by some elaborate, admittedly ingenius plan. To her surprise, however, he just snorted. "I think that problem will solve itself. Padmé won't be happy to learn that I've stolen back what belongs to me." He jostled Ahsoka slightly, making it clear that he was talking about her. It took almost physical effort for her not to cringe in disgust. "She'll be coming back for what she thinks is hers."

Selfishly, Ahsoka hoped it was true. Then she berated herself for ever having wished for such a thing, even for a second. Padmé needed to stay as far away from Vader as possible. She was the leader of the Rebellion; if there was any hope for the future of the galaxy, it rested in her hands. Ahsoka was a Jedi. She could survive on her own for the time being.

The doors swished open again, and a pair of footsteps padded timidly against the floor. "Your Imperial Majesty," said a young woman, "there are already crowds forming outside of the palace. People are packed shoulder-to-shoulder—"

"They aren't going anywhere," Vader declared, but he stood up anyway, inadvertently bouncing Ahsoka in his arms. She let her head slump back towards the ceiling, unsupported, but Vader rearranged her so that she was once again leaning against his shoulder. "They all want to see you, Princess," he whispered, a cruel smile in his voice.

Ahsoka's stomach clenched as she realized what he wanted. He wanted to show her off. He wanted to brag to the galaxy about having "rescued" her from nonexistent kidnappers. Her lengthy disappearance would have stirred up some doubt amongst his subjects, and he was now planning on using her presence to reassert his power and strength.

Another artificial breeze whistled past her, so Ahsoka figured that they must have been moving again. As if to confirm her suspicions, a pair of doors clattered together, and the music that had been playing was abruptly cut off. Vader swept forward wordlessly. The only sounds Ahsoka could make out now were the rustle of fabric and the muffled clop of shoes against carpeting. The emperor didn't change direction for what must have been at least a solid minute, which meant that they were in a corridor. They were already on their way to his public address.

More scuffling of shoe soles, those of both Vader and his entourage. The chime of a turbolift as the doors slid open, and the clatter of all of those bodies shoving themselves inside. Ahsoka documented her surroundings by sound, traced her path along a mental map of the palace. They would doubtless be heading to the main balcony, if there really were that many people in the crowd. The only question was how long it would take for them to get there.

Her inquiry was answered in what she assumed to be roughly ten minutes' time. The familiar aroma of tangerines and roses burst around her, pulling memories to the forefront of her mind. This was the perfume that had always scented what Ahsoka had called the Glass Room: the chamber that led onto the front balcony of the palace. Vader had rarely let her appear during his public addresses, though he had often parked her on one of the settee sofas and told her to wait until he and Padmé were finished. The walls were covered completely in floor-to-ceiling mirrors, so Ahsoka had spent most of the time staring blankly at her own reflection, her supposed brother's voice drifting through the heavy velvet drapes that concealed the doors.

Somebody rearranged Ahsoka's position, draping one of her arms around Vader's neck and letting the other one hang loose. Then a blush brush tickled her cheeks, and a wand glided along her bottom lip. That meant it couldn't be too long until Vader carried her out onto the balcony. In the early days after her awakening, Ahsoka would sit patiently on a sofa in the Glass Room, having already been deposited there by Anakin. A cluster of handmaidens would be performing last minute touch-ups on the mysterious Empress Padmé, and Ahsoka would watch them in fascination. But then Padmé would meet her gaze, and Ahsoka would wrench it away in horror, ashamed at having been caught staring. She wondered what Padmé had been thinking at those moments, if she had been afraid of Ahsoka's emptiness and mindless obedience, like that of some limp ragdoll brought suddenly to life. Or maybe a deep sense of loss had settled within her, and she had mourned the girl who had died in the torture chamber on the night of Order 66. Ahsoka had never gotten the chance to ask her. Now she probably never would.

"All right, let's hurry it up," Vader growled. It had been a few minutes' time now, and the makeup brushes still hadn't retreated. For once in her life, Ahsoka had to agree with him. She had already been so made up when she had last looked at her reflection. For Force's sake, what more could they hope to accomplish? At last, the sweep of brushes against her skin disappeared, and she heard the swish of velvet curtains and the squeak of opening doors. And then a cool breeze glided against her skin, and the cheers and screams of the crowd built into a maddening crescendo. The noise pounded in Ahsoka's montrals like the roar of an erupting volcano. She was assailed by another wave of lightheadedness and found herself suddenly grateful that she was supposed to be unconscious.

"Citizens of the Galactic Empire!" At the sound of Vader's voice, a hush wove its way through the crowd. "This is a victorious day for our galaxy. As you all know, my wife, children, and sister were abducted by enemies of our regime only a short month ago. Today, after a successfully staged rescue mission, I deliver both my children and my little sister safely back home."

A wave of cheers rose up to greet this news, but the sound echoed distantly in Ahsoka's montrals. _Children?_ No, that couldn't…Vader had recaptured Luke and Leia, as well? But…but…they hadn't gone to Ilum. They had been supposedly safe on Alderaan…

"However, the Princess Ahsoka's time in captivity will still affect her going forward. She was brutally tortured and abused by her kidnappers"—Ahsoka wondered wryly if Vader was trying to describe himself—"and was separated early on from her sister-in-law, niece, and nephew. When her fiancé, Prince Erosik, attempted to come to her rescue, the princess's kidnappers forced her to watch as they mutilated and then murdered him." A crash of enraged voices exploded through the air, and Ahsoka was stunned at how easily Vader could harness their anger, these people who did not know her yet were all too willing to hate on her behalf. It made her sick to her stomach. "By the time that I found her, she was lying over his corpse, sobbing uncontrollably. Her captors had pumped her with so many drugs that she couldn't speak in coherent sentences." There was a grave silence, filled only by the whistle of the wind. "She passed out soon afterwards. I brought her back to Coruscant, but…she still hasn't woken up." And then, in a moment of what she assumed to be "rare weakness", she felt Vader press his forehead against hers. A sympathetic murmur rippled through the masses. Ahsoka fought the urge to scream.

He left her with a kiss on the forehead— _screw_ him, the hypocrite!—and stood back up. "It is time for us to bring these criminals to justice!" Vader announced, and this time, the infuriated boom of the crowd was so deafening that Ahsoka almost winced. "It is time for us to make them suffer what my young sister has suffered." He clasped Ahsoka more tightly against his chest. "Especially when one of them is a traitor within my own ranks."

The crowd fell silent, but hungry anticipation still thrummed in the air. A female voice yelped in pain, and then Ahsoka heard the _thump_ of a body colliding with marble. She must have been thrown onto the ground or forced onto her knees. "This woman pretended to be one of the Princess Ahsoka's handmaidens while, in reality, she was feeding intelligence to the criminals who abducted her. She played major roles in both torturing the princess and in murdering her betrothed." More irate cries tore from the masses, mounting in intensity until Ahsoka realized that they were actually a chant: _Death! Death! Death!_ "Silence," Vader ordered, and they at once obeyed. "As you all know, I hate taking lives unnecessarily. But this woman has committed treason to the highest degree, and the law is clear. Lahnya Adira must die for her crimes."

 _Lahnya._ For a moment, the name held no meaning, but then the handmaiden's face swam across Ahsoka's mind's eye, and she almost gasped. Lahnya, who was younger than even she was, who hadn't done anything but manipulate a few holos and serve as a decoy for the princess. With a pang in her chest, Ahsoka remembered the promise she had made her on the day of her escape—the promise she had broken. _Jedi don't run._ Lahnya had trusted her, and she had left. She had left her with Vader, and he had obviously discovered Lahnya's involvement, and now, she would pay for it with her life.

Vader handed Ahsoka to somebody else, and the _snap-hiss_ of a lightsaber pierced the air. The crowd had once again fallen into an eager silence. Ahsoka's heart pounded in her montrals, driving her further into a state of dizziness. Vader's footsteps thumped heavily against the floor as he approached Lahnya, and the handmaiden whimpered. Ahsoka was seized by panic as she realized that she only had a few seconds. But she had no lightsaber, no blaster, no weapon of any kind. So she did the only thing she could think of. She screamed.

The man holding her was so startled that he practically dropped her, and Ahsoka stumbled to her feet and backed away from him. Sunlight glared ferociously in her vision, so she held up a hand to shield her eyes as she looked to Vader. She expected to see a clenched jaw and hunched shoulders—elements of his battle-ready position—but instead, an unfamiliar gentleness glimmered in his eyes, his head tilted innocently to the side. Ahsoka felt a twinge of bewilderment, but nonetheless, she held his gaze with unfailing intensity, refusing to succumb to what was obviously another one of his games. And then, at long last, she sucked in a quick breath, gathered her courage, and opened her mouth.

* * *

"How dare you, you coward! How dare you attempt to punish her for what _I_ did!"

Padmé froze, silent tears still rolling down her cheeks. _Ahsoka._ The thought unveiled itself numbly, as if it were a struggle to pull the name to the forefront of her mind. Hope and disbelief clashed inside of her, the mood swings so rapid that she couldn't pinpoint what she was feeling at any given second. _Ahsoka. Not Anakin._ But Ahsoka had been unconscious. Could she have been faking it the entire time? Or was Padmé just going crazy?

She glanced over her shoulder at the clumps of cantina patrons. She had almost reached the exit, but, as if by its own accord, her body turned back toward the front, and she plunged into the crowd. Bail yelled after her, but it did no good. His voice was lost to the cantina patrons' shocked murmurs and the thud of Padmé's heart as it pounded in her ears.

* * *

A wave of confusion had already swept through the crowd below, as evidenced by their stunned silence. Ahsoka did not break eye contact with Vader but backed slowly away, neglecting to stop until she collided with the rail of the balcony. "Don't look at me like that," she spat. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I wasn't kidnapped. Padmé and I ran away becau—"

"Ahsoka." The hurt in his eyes almost stung. He looked exactly as he had while pretending to be Anakin Skywalker on Ilum. It was fake, then. It was all fake. "I don't know everything they did to you, and I definitely don't know what they told you about me, but it's not true. None of it is. I rescued you. I brought you back to Coruscant. You're safe now, okay?"

"No. No, I'm _not_ safe!" Ahsoka shook her head frantically to the side as Vader began to approach her. "You're the one who kidnapped me! He— _he's_ the one who kidnapped me!" she added, turning toward the crowd and pointing to Vader. "The emperor! During the Jedi Purge, he erased my memories, because I—I was his Padawan—his apprentice—Ahsoka Ta— _no!"_

Vader had locked his arms around her waist. She screamed and groped blindly for the rail of the balcony, gasping with relief as one of her hands made contact with the marble. "Ahsoka, come on," he said delicately, his voice a calculated whisper. Quiet enough for the crowd to _think_ it was meant for her when it was really intended for all of them. He was wearing a mic, so they would hear everything he said. "You don't know what you're talking about, little one. You've got countless drugs flowing through your system. And you're still in a state of shock after having witnessed your fiancé's death."

"My fiancé's death?" The words tumbled from her mouth in an angry burst. "I wasn't in shock after he died. I wasn't _devastated_. I never loved him in the first place. I was the one who—argh!" Vader had given her waist a fierce tug, as if to drag her back to the Glass Room. She wrenched her body forward and grabbed onto the rail with her other hand, shaking wildly. A sea of people roiled beneath her, shoving past each other to get a better view of the balcony. "I was the one who killed him! Not Lahnya! _I_ killed Prince Erosik in self defence!"

* * *

It was as if time had come to a standstill. Even before Ahsoka's confession, the cantina had been permeated by a tense silence, but now, Padmé couldn't even make out the lull of people breathing. The patrons were statues—lifeless statues that stared ahead with glassy, unblinking eyes. But then the fragile moment collapsed, and like a bomb that had been detonated, a clamour erupted throughout the room with a defeaning surge of volume.

A fist shot out of nowhere and collided with Padmé's injured leg, and she gasped and stumbled back a few paces. She thought she might have heard a murmured apology, but she couldn't tell for sure over the ruckus. _Prince Erosik. Dead by Ahsoka's hand._ Padmé wouldn't have been able to live with herself if, in her absence, Ahsoka had been forced into marriage—but at the same time, if what she said was true, Anakin would punish her severely.

Padmé swallowed her panic, grit her teeth against the pain, and slotted her body through any openings she could find, pushing her way to the front. "He was electrocuting me!" Ahsoka's voice screamed over the speakers. "He wanted—stop it, let _go_ of me, let go!—he wanted me to pass out so he could bring me back to Coru—argh!"

"Poor thing." The voice drifted from Padmé's left, and she turned to see a group of men clustered around a table, each clutching a glass of something alcoholic. "Whatever they did to her must've been bad. She can't even trust her own brother anymore."

Padmé bit the inside of her cheek, battling back a wash of anger. Of course they would assume that Anakin's story was the correct one. Of course they would assume that Ahsoka was just crazy or traumatized. She took a side step toward the table, turning her face in the opposite direction. "I don't know," she said casually. "I think the princess is the one who's telling the truth." And then, before the men could catch sight of who she was, she dove back into the crowds.

* * *

"Ahsoka, I know it's hard to believe, but you have to trust me. You loved your fiancé; I saw you two together every day. You never would have hurt him." Ahsoka shook her head wildly, as if that alone could fend off Vader's lies. He released her waist and ran both hands over her back lek, trying to calm her down. "Your kidnappers forced you to watch as they murdered him. Your mind is in a fragile state right now. It's possible—likely, even—that your memory of recent events is inaccurate on account of the trauma that you faced…"

"Then what happened on Ilum?" she gasped, clutching onto the balcony rail to steady herself. She was beginning to hyperventilate, due to both the corset and the stress of her situation, and lightheadedness had already blurred her consciousness. She panicked as she remembered the early days after her awakening, when she had sometimes passed out from having been unable to breathe in the corset. _No,_ she decided immediately. She couldn't—wouldn't—pass out. She was going to tell these people the truth. "Don't you remember duelling me in the crystal caves? And on the day of my wedding, when I escaped? Don't you remember _that?"_

Vader set his hand on her left cheek, jerking her face towards his in one swift motion. "Ahsoka, I've told you already. Your memories aren't real." A smile quirked his lips, but Ahsoka could see that it only existed to hide something much more sinister. "Besides, just look at yourself. If we're being realistic, there's not much of a chance that you would be able to take me in a fight."

Ahsoka gasped involuntarily, stunned by his false assertion, but only a second later, enmity tumbled back in. It felt as if her rage had been liquefied and was now racing through her veins. "I am _perfectly_ capable of taking you in a fight, and you well know it!" she growled. His hand slid down to grasp her chin, but she yanked away. "I held my own against you not once, but twice. The first time, I almost killed you! I pressed a shard of glass to your throat, and I could have—"

"Then why am I still here?" On the surface level, his voice was just as placid as a concerned older brother's might be, but something dangerous lurked beneath the gentleness. "If, in your memory, you had the chance to kill me, and you _wanted_ to, then why wouldn't you have?"

Ahsoka hesitated, staring into his eyes. The irises were already tainted by a few brief flashes of yellow. "Because I'm not like you," she said at last, her voice steadier than she had expected. "I'm not evil. I don't kill mercilessly. Prince Erosik's death may have been my fault, but I never intended to kill him. I was only trying to defend myself." She turned her head back toward the crowds. They had descended into silence, blinking up at her inquistively. Were they…were they maybe starting to believe her? "I am not a princess, contrary to what Emperor Vader has told you. I am a member of the Jedi Order, a survivor of the recent purge, and—"

"Ahsoka, this is ridiculous." Vader shook his head in what appeared to be disbelief. "There's no such thing as a Jedi. If there ever was, the last of them were killed off hundreds of years ago. Now they exist only in stories—mystical enemies of the Empire who purposefully started wars in order to further their own power. Still, it wouldn't surprise me if—"

He froze, staring into the distance, and a terrible realization dawned in his eyes. "Oh, Force," he murmured. _"That's_ what happened, isn't it? Your captors brainwashed you so that you'd believe yourself to be one of those traitorous Jedi. And that…that's why you think that I'm 'evil'. That's why you're so convinced that you murdered your own fiancé."

His gaze found hers again. There were already tears dribbling down his cheeks. Ahsoka shook her head vehemently, but he snatched her wrists and pulled her towards him. "No!" She flailed in his grasp as she attempted to escape. "No! Don't _touch_ me! _You're_ the one who brainwashed me, you're lying, you're lying—" He whisked her into an embrace before she could continue. Even through his leather glove, his metal fingers bit into her back lek, and she realized that he was holding her face against his chest so that she couldn't say anything else.

"We're going to fix this, Ahsoka," he whispered. His chest jerked up and down, in time with his fake sobs. "You just have to trust me. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from those criminals. I'm so sorry. I should never have let this happen, but I'm going to make it better—"

"How could you make it _better?"_ Her screams were muffled against the fabric of his shirt, but she refused to be quiet. That's what he wanted her to do. Surely someone in the crowd would be able to tell what she was saying. "You were the one who abused me in the first place! When I found my lightsabers in the treasury, you yelled at me and _hit_ me!"

Vader stiffened against her. Then he pulled away and took her by the shoulders, threats flickering in his eyes. "I think you're confused, Ahsoka. I'm your brother. I would never hurt you. I _love_ you." He ran his thumb along her left cheek. The cheek that he had _hit_. "Listen to me, little one. I know what must have happened. One of your captors harmed you and subsequently convinced you that I was the one responsible. But I would never do something like that."

"I'm _not_ lying."

"I don't believe you're lying. Not on purpose. None of this is your fault. This isn't you, Ahsoka."

"Isn't it?"

A shudder trickled down her spine as his gaze seared into hers. "No. I don't think it is."

Ahsoka's mouth flew open, but the only thing to emerge was a strangled scream. Fire crackled along the right side of her neck, and for one delirius moment, she was convinced that lava was surging through her veins. But then, in her peripheral vision, she caught sight of a small syringe, and her eyes bolted up to Vader's. His expression remained mostly nonchalant, but the almost imperceptible half-smile was enough to confirm her worst fears.

He had drugged her. And she only had a few more moments until she lost consciousness.

* * *

Padmé's stomach turned as a pause stretched into a silence. Something was wrong, or else Ahsoka would have already responded to Anakin's taunts. With increased tenacity, she shoved past anyone in her way, moving so quickly that their faces blurred into indistinguishable blobs. Finally, right as she dragged herself within view of the holoscreen, high-pitched gasps shot out of the speakers. Ahsoka was slumped backwards, held upright only by Anakin's secure grip underneath her arms. Her chest was conspicuously struggling to rise and fall, and Padmé knew at once what was happening. She was hyperventilating.

"She's having a panic attack!" Anakin yelled. "We have to get her back inside the palace." Ahsoka shook her head feebly, right at the moment that Padmé did the same. _A panic attack?_ Both before and after Ahsoka's memory loss, Padmé had fought alongside her in numerous stressful situations, and not once had she seen her succumb to a panic attack. While they and the Blue Shadow Virus had coinhabited a sealed-off laboratory, Ahsoka had done her part to ensure Naboo's safety until she had literally passed out. Padmé examined the sweat that glistened on the girl's forehead and the shivers that rocked her form. She listened to the sharp whimpers that oftentimes tore from the speakers—whimpers of _pain_. This didn't seem to her like a panic attack. It seemed as if Ahsoka had been poisoned. Or drugged.

By Anakin.

Fury swelled within her as a wave of Imperial officers hefted Ahsoka into their arms. Padmé's eyes travelled over their faces, and her heart rate spiked as she noticed a man on the far right. _Wilhuff Tarkin._ His lips were twisted into a self-satisfied smile, as though he enjoyed watching a young girl moan in pain and struggle desperately. Next to him was a woman who looked a lot like…no…Barriss Offee? Padmé's eyes widened at the sight. She hadn't even known she was still alive. And yet there she was, helping to apprehend the princess.

After only a few seconds, Ahsoka stopped struggling. A glassy sheen shone in her eyes. Her head lolled to the side so that she was staring into the holocamera lens, and chills skittered down Padmé's spine at the eerie unresponsiveness that had settled over her features. _No,_ she thought hopelessly. _Come on, Ahsoka! Stay awake!_ But her eyes rolled back as she dissolved into the officers' waiting arms, and the holoscreen flickered before going black.

* * *

Padmé dragged a cloth along the table, staining the fabric with dirt and grease. She was trembling, and goosebumps had risen all over her arms, even though the temperature outside was reasonably warm and there was no air conditioner inside of the house. After she and Bail had left the cantina, Kaeden had helped them to find some place where they could live for the time being. This particular home had apparently been abandoned by a woman named Cietra, and though it had come for free, it would first require quite a bit of housekeeping.

Padmé had been desperate to lose herself in the chores, but they were too mindless to properly distract her. She clenched her free hand into a fist as Ahsoka's image drifted back into her memory. She had known the _Devastator_ would land on Ilum. She should have followed it to the surface. She should have helped Ahsoka to escape. She could have left Bail or Mon in charge of her squadron. They might have done better than her anyway…

"Padmé." Bail's voice reached her ears. She kept her back turned to him, scrubbing at the table with even more ferocity. "How is your leg doing?"

She glanced down. She had allowed Selda—the older Togrutan man who ran the cantina—to treat her injuries, but only because she knew she had to prevent an infection. Padmé couldn't do Ahsoka, Luke, or Leia much good if she was dead. "He has my children, Bail." Her voice scratched against her throat as she spoke. "He has Ahsoka."

"Padmé—"

"We're going back." She whipped around to meet Bail's wide-eyed gaze. "I don't care how hard it is to get off of this moon. We'll do it and we'll go back to Coruscant."

Bail shook his head. "That's what he wants you to do."

"I can't let him hurt Ahsoka."

"He won't dare hurt her until you've taken the bait. Be patient, Padmé."

"Be _patient?"_ Anger swept through her like wildfire devours a forest, followed by a gut-wrenching wash of terror. "No. You don't understand. Anakin knows I've already heard news of Ahsoka's capture. His trap is set. Now he can hurt her as much as he wants. Every second we spend on this Force-forsaken moon is a second he could be—" The severity of the thought crashed down upon her, and she flinched violently. "—A second he could be erasing her memories," she finished, more quietly. "If we stay on Raada for too long, Ahsoka won't even remember who she is by the time we get around to rescuing her. We have to do it now."

Bail sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Let's say we manage, somehow, to get to Coruscant," he said. "What if you don't manage to rescue Padawan Tano and your children? What if all you accomplish is getting recaptured yourself? Then what?"

Padmé narrowed her eyes into a glare. "That is a risk I am willing to take."

"Padmé, please—"

"I've lost _everyone_ , Bail!" Her volume nearly reached that of a shout, but her voice still cracked on suppressed sobs. She hugged herself tightly, blinking away hot tears as she looked into his eyes. "Vader ran his lightsaber through my sister when she refused to betray me, and I watched her die in my arms. He ordered his troops to burn my parents alive. He sent an assassin after my youngest niece, and she was found with a knife through her heart. Don't you get it? I _can't_ lose Ahsoka. I can't lose Leia or Luke. They're all I have left."

Bail closed his eyes and gave a long sigh. "You are the leader of the Rebellion. We can't let—"

"For Force's sake, just _listen_ to me!" The words erupted from her mouth like water bursting from a dam. Sudden silence settled over them, interlaced with tension. Finally, she took a deep breath and continued. "Leia and Luke were on Alderaan. They were supposed to be safe in your palace. But didn't you notice how quickly Anakin arrived in Ilum's atmosphere? He was coming from the Core. If he had learned of our attack at the beginning of the battle, it still would have taken him _hours_ to reach us. He had to have known about our plans in advance."

"How would he have known that?" Bail said feebly. But the rawness of his voice betrayed him. He already knew. He just couldn't admit it out loud.

"He sent people to ravage your palace, Bail," Padmé said. "Spies. Right after we left for Ilum. They have my children now. They probably have your daughter as a hostage, too."

He stared at the ground as though noticing it for the first time. "We don't know for sure that he was coming from the Core. At the time, he was searching for you and Padawan Tano. If I were him, I probably would have started by looking in the Outer Rim."

"Maybe. But if he didn't send anyone to Alderaan, how would he have captured Luke and Leia?"

Bail opened his mouth to respond, but nothing emerged. Strands of dark hair had fallen haphazardly over his eyes, and Padmé was surprised at how defeated and exhausted it made him look. "We can do it, Bail," she said quietly, touching his shoulder. "We can rescue Demia, but we have to get to Coruscant first." Then she withdrew her hand, straightening her posture and throwing back her shoulders. "Besides, as your general, I'm ordering you to help me find a way off of Raada. So you don't have much of a choice in the matter."

He looked up at her, hollow surprise reflected in his eyes. He obviously had not been expecting her to pull rank. "All right," he said at last. "I'll do my best, Padmé."

She nodded solemnly. "Yeah," she said, her eyes blazing with determination. "Me, too."

* * *

 **Did any of you catch the Mortis references I made in this chapter? ;)**

 **I hope you enjoyed. See? I promised there was still hope for Ahsoka! Unfortunately, Padmé is (somewhat knowingly) walking right into Vader's trap, but as Obi-Wan says in Episode III, the next step is to "spring the** **trap".**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think! They really do make my day. The next few weeks might be a little bit crazy, as I am travelling, but who knows? There's a chance that I might be able to get a chapter up soon, depending on how creative I can get with time. ;)**

 **Love, Isabelle**


	23. Chapter 23

**Hello, everyone! So...um...I think I might be a bit of an understatement to say that it's been awhile since I've posted. I think it's been about...a month and a half? In fact, when the email alert came in, you might have clicked on the title thinking that it looked vaguely familiar, even though you could no longer remember exactly which story this is or why you decided to follow it. Don't worry, I've got you covered. ;) This is the one where Emperor Vader lies to Ahsoka about being his little sister, and when she figures out that he has been dishonest with her the whole time, she and Padmé escape the palace on Coruscant and start up the Rebellion. However, Ahsoka has just been recaptured by Vader, and Padmé and Bail Organa are stranded on the moon Raada. That is a bit of an oversimplification, but hopefully it will jog all of your memories. :)**

 **Anyway, on a more serious note, sorry for the wait. Life has been kind of crazy lately. Long story short, I was travelling, and then classes started up again, and now I'm in another show and I've got more auditions in a couple of weeks...but hopefully I can make it up to you with this next chapter. :)**

 **This next one is kind of intense. As a warning, there is some violence in it, but nothing I haven't included in this story before. It is an Ahsoka-centric chapter. Next time, I will include more of Padmé, don't worry. Also, since it's been so long, I will let you read the chapter first and then answer reviews at the end. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. I know it's been awhile since I last posted, but this is unfortunately something that has not changed, even in such a long period of time. ;)**

* * *

Ahsoka blinked open her eyes, her lashes thick and heavy against her cheekbones. She disentangled herself from hazy, formless dreams that she couldn't quite remember, trying to determine where she was now. Even before her eyes had fully adjusted to the light, her heart skipped a beat as it all came back to her. _The Coruscanti palace. Vader._

She moaned quietly, shook her head, and took in her surroundings with bleary eyes. It didn't take her long to recognize the ballroom where she had first met both Lux and Erosik. Monstrous crystal chandeliers hovered from the ceiling, straining against impossibly thin chains. Even though the lighting was warm, it seemed so harsh to Ahsoka that it might as well have been fluorescent. Her skirts had exploded around her in a wild disarray, and she realized a bit belatedly that she was on her knees, held in place by two of the palace guards. The bite of fingernails burned against the skin of her upper arms.

She pulled her gaze to the front of the room, and her eyes settled on the emperor's throne. His hands were clenched around the armrests, his features so harsh that they could have been chiselled from stone. His eyes fell upon her as though she were no more than a speck of dust, a minor inconvenience that he would soon solve. At last, he rose, and seconds seemed to stretch into minutes as he stared at her. The ballroom was a void, sucked clean of all sound, solely excepting the thud of his footsteps against the marble. His velvet cape sliced through the air as he approached her, but even it seemed to move in silence. Then he knelt down before her, and she caught a glimpse of his yellow eyes right before her cheek erupted in pain.

An involuntary yelp escaped Ahsoka's throat, but she did not otherwise react. She opened her eyes—which she realized she had closed instinctively—and found that her head had snapped to the left. Her right cheek throbbed with an agony that brought hot tears to her eyes, and a metallic taste was beginning to trickle through her mouth.

He had backhanded her.

Ahsoka spat blood onto the floor. Her muscles had already tensed for a fight, and rage burned at her insides with such ferocity that it made her want to scream. She stared at the ground for a moment before dragging her head upwards. Yellow flames licked at Vader's irises, but for whatever reason, Ahsoka could not bring herself to fear him. She locked her gaze onto his and curled her bottom lip. "Hit me again," she snarled. "I dare you."

She had hardly finished her sentence before the air was once again knocked from her lungs. She opened her mouth and gasped for air, trying to suppress the cry of pain that was crawling its way up her throat. She had expected Vader to stare at her for a moment, surprised that she would so freely invite him to hit her. She had expected him to wait for her to beg for mercy. She hadn't thought he would immediately take her up on her offer.

He grabbed her chin and yanked her head upwards. A small smile curved his lips as they met eyes. She swallowed hard and accidentally ingested her own blood. "You know what they say, Princess," he whispered, dragging his thumbnail along her right cheek. She winced, biting down on her bottom lip to keep from whimpering. "Third time's a charm."

Ahsoka froze. Then, before even she knew what she was doing, she had lunged at him, something like a growl rising in her throat. Vader dropped his hold on her, and the guards heaved her backwards as she kicked and flailed in their grasp. "Foolish girl," the emperor chuckled. "Be quiet, now. I'm not going to hurt you. In fact, I should be thanking you."

This caught Ahsoka's attention. She fell silent and looked up at him through narrowed eyes. "The entire galaxy now thinks the kidnappers drove you to near insanity," Vader said, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing in front of her. "You only served as further proof of my story. Nobody will readily believe what you say from this point on."

Ahsoka glanced nervously at the people standing behind Vader. Most of them were Imperial officers whom she did not recognize, but she did catch sight of Commander Offee. Beside her was a older human man who looked familiar—one with thin lips, high cheekbones, and sunken eyes. She furrowed her brow, trying to remember where she had seen him before, but turned back to Vader when she was unsuccessful. "I don't think you give your citizens enough credit," she said. "Surely there are at least a handful of people who aren't hopelessly stupid."

Vader came to a stop in front of her and raised an eyebrow. "Don't be ridiculous, Your Highness," he said. "There are only three kinds of people. The first are genuinely naïve enough to believe whatever their ruler tells them. The second might have some doubts, until they realize that the only way to protect themselves is to willingly accept the emperor's word as truth. And the third…" He trailed off and grinned down at Ahsoka. "The third might not care for their own security, but they will always submit to you if it's the only way to save the people they love."

Ahsoka stared up at him with a gaze like steel. _"I_ won't submit to you."

"You would stand alone in that decision, Princess. The Coruscanti crowd was quite pleased to witness the execution of your former handmaiden, Lahnya Adira."

Ahsoka's mouth fell open in shock. "No," she whispered. "No, you couldn't have—"

"Adira was responsible for unspeakably terrible crimes," Vader announced. "You of all people should know this. If it weren't for her, your current mental state wouldn't be so…unbalanced."

"I'm not crazy," Ahsoka ground out through gritted teeth.

Vader gave a long sigh, shaking his head slowly. "Part of your insanity is your refusal to acknowledge the simple fact that you are insane. Despite your delusional views, Princess, the rest of the Empire knows the truth. You are so traumatized that you must remain sheltered inside of the palace until you recover, under my watch and that of my most trusted officers."

Ahsoka shook her head vehemently. "You're trying to confuse me. You're trying to get me to doubt myself so that you can control what I think."

"Don't sidestep the truth, Ahsoka." Vader knelt down slowly. His cape crinkled into a velvet heap behind him. He reached out to cup her cheek, and even though she tried to lean away from him, the guards yanked her forward violently. The emperor sighed at her failed escape attempt, leisurely tracing her jawbone with his thumb. She shuddered. "Don't you realize that only a crazy person would fabricate such desperate excuses?"

Ahsoka gave a half-scream of frustration. "You _just_ admitted that you trick people into believing your lies. Remember? 'There are only three kinds of people'?"

Vader released her, furrowing his brow as if in genuine confusion. "What?"

"You _just_ said—"

"I never said anything of the kind, Ahsoka." He stood up and raked his hands through his hair, splaying golden-brown curls in all directions. It made him look strangely boyish—almost _innocent_. "That confirms it. This is even worse than I initially thought."

"Liar! You know you're lying, you—"

"Quiet, Princess." Vader tapped a finger against his lips, his tone as demeaning as if he were talking to a child. "You have no need to worry. I'm going to take care of you. I've already arranged for the galaxy's most renowned therapists to help you through your recovery. Furthermore, from this point on, you will be accompanied at all times by at least ten specially trained palace guards, who will protect you against any further kidnappings."

Bodyguards. He was giving her _bodyguards_ to prevent her from escaping. "Oh, yes," she said, her tone dripping in sarcasm. "I'm sure that's all solely for my protection."

"I can assure you, Your Imperial Highness, that everything the emperor does is in the interest of keeping you safe." This did not come from Vader but from the officer with the high cheekbones and thin lips. Ahsoka shot him a scathing glare, and as he narrowed his eyes in return, it occurred to her where she had seen him before. _Her vision._ He was the man in the courtroom who had been glowering at her as she was escorted out.

Ahsoka tipped back her head and exhaled slowly, opening her eyes once she was finished. The chandeliers looked like upside-down wedding cakes. She tried to make sense of all of the horrible things that had happened—her capture, Lahnya's death, whatever Vader had done to get his hands on Luke and Leia—but whenever she tried, her grasp on reality slipped through her fingers. She had unconsciously attributed a dreamlike quality to anything she wished would disappear from the past. Even when she told herself that this was real, that she wasn't just going to wake up, she couldn't completely believe it. There wasn't enough closure.

"Before you go, Princess—one more thing." Ahsoka's gaze found Vader's as his voice reached her montrals. He slipped a hand beneath his cape and swiftly withdrew it, his fingers clenched around something she could not see. He smiled as he knelt before her, wordlessly pushing a cool object into her palms. She looked down. The light of the chandeliers glinted off of a gold necklace chain. She lifted it up by the clasp, letting the pendant dangle. The design was surprisingly simple—or so she thought, until she realized, with a surge of dread, why Vader had given it to her. The chain looked exactly the same as the one Lux had given her at the wedding shower—in fact, maybe it _was_ the same—but the locket had been replaced. A glass pendant in the shape of an oval hovered from the necklace, rounded at the edges so that it magnified anything on the opposite side. Inside the glass was the Imperial insignia, locked unforgivingly in place like a fossil. "Consider it a late wedding gift," Vader said, taking Ahsoka's wrist and guiding her hand along the glass pendant. "Something to replace the locket that Senator Organa so generously gave you. I had to dispose of it after it was found to be a security threat."

Ahsoka's head snapped up in a flash. He knew Senator Organa was involved. And Alderaan—Leia and Luke had been on _Alderaan_ —no. She gasped as it all clicked into place. _I know you're on Ilum, Princess. I have my sources._ That was how he had known. And that was how he had reacquired Ahsoka's engagement ring. He had either raided the Alderaanian palace or sent people to do it for him. But Ryoo and Darred had been there, too. And Bail Organa's daughter, Princess Demia. Did that mean they had been taken, as well?

"Grand Moff Tarkin, Commander Offee,"—Vader stubbornly refused to peel his gaze away from Ahsoka, even as he addressed his officers—"I must ask you and the princess's bodyguards to escort her safely back to her chambers." His lips quirked into a smile that didn't seem quite genuine, and he tightened his grip on her hand. "I have some important matters to which I must attend, Ahsoka, but I'll come to visit you in a couple of hours. All right?"

Before she could respond, Vader let go of her and the guards yanked her to her feet. Ahsoka's balance momentarily escaped her and she rolled onto her right ankle. She struggled to catch herself in her stilettos but just barely managed, biting her cheek to alleviate the pain. Guards flowed into a neat formation around her, headed by Commander Offee and the man from Ahsoka's vision—Tarkin, as Vader had called him. Her fingers itched for her lightsabers. It was like a prison made of people, she thought, watching four heads bob before her as she was ushered out of the ballroom. A prison within a prison.

* * *

By the time Ahsoka arrived in her bedroom, her feet were so blistered that she almost couldn't stand. She only refrained from dropping into a crouch because she could not afford to look weak in front of the guards or officers. The double doors slammed behind her, followed by the unmistakeable click of a lock. _Force dang it._ She was trapped. She turned around just in time to see one of the guards pocket a key. He flashed her a smug grin and then winked.

She knew what he would say if she asked. _For your protection, Princess._ So she didn't ask. She just held his gaze until he grew uncomfortable and turned away.

Ahsoka considered her options—not that she had too many. If she tried to fight, it would be twelve to one. Those were not good odds, especially in a corset and stilettos. She didn't like the thought of just going along with Vader's plan, either, but she wasn't sure what else she could do. Hopefully they would at least feed her soon; she hadn't eaten since before landing on Ilum and was practically starving. If she could get some food in her stomach and maybe a few hours of sleep, her head would be much clearer and she might be able to devise her own plan.

Commander Offee raised her arm above her head and gestured for the guards to subside. As they did, she snatched Ahsoka by her upper arm, parading her proudly through the room like some prized object. Ahsoka's cheeks and lekku burned in humiliation. They passed by the walk-in closet, the door left slightly ajar, and she saw a flash of pastel-coloured silks and satins. How beautiful they looked on the surface. How ugly they were beneath those shimmery layers of fabric. The corsets and petticoats, and on "special occasions" the crinolines…the high-heeled shoes that left her feet blistered and sore…all of them hideous methods of control.

She had to get out of here. She _had_ to.

A crash of thunder sounded from outside, and Ahsoka's heart almost jumped out of her chest. Her gaze snapped to the ceiling-high windows, but they were concealed by silk curtains. It must have been scheduled to rain today. It hardly ever did, due to Coruscanti weather control, but once in awhile it had to. A sudden wistfulness came over Ahsoka, momentarily blotting out the fact that she was a prisoner. She tugged out of Commander Offee's grasp and glided toward the windows. The thud of boots echoed behind her but abruptly came to a halt at the sound of Offee's voice. "Leave her," she ordered, to Ahsoka's mild surprise. "Let her make peace with her new reality. She'll be within our sight the whole time."

Ahsoka passed her vanity and deposited Vader's glass necklace on the surface. When she flicked her eyes up to her reflection, she noticed that a nasty bruise was already forming on her right cheek. As though she didn't care, she tossed back her head and marched toward the windows, throwing the curtains apart and to the side. The rings screamed against the metal of the drapery rod, in sharp contrast to the gentle _whoosh_ of the cream-coloured silk. It fluttered with the delicacy of butterfly wings, stilling as Ahsoka pressed a hand against the window. Coruscant was a dark smudge on the horizon, masked by shining sheets of rain. The glass was cool, and it occurred to her that a sticky warmth was prickling along the rest of her skin. And she was hungry—so hungry that her mouth tasted foul and she thought she might be sick.

She closed her eyes. Her bedroom was located in one of the towers, so she could hear the rain pummel the rooftops and pelt against the glass of the window. Another crack of thunder erupted in her montrals, and her eyes fluttered open again. She stared out at the pinpricks of light and the grey smears of darkness that amounted to the entirety of Galactic City. Somewhere down there, Padmé had told her the truth of her identity. Strange that the month they had spent together now hovered hazily in her memory, as distant as if it had all been a dream. Finding herself in the Coruscanti palace again should have been surreal, but it had already sharpened itself into reality. Horrifyingly, it was almost as if she had never left.

Ahsoka's blood turned to ice as sudden horror spiked through her. What if she lost herself again? What if she forgot who she was supposed to be—or, perhaps even worse, became indifferent? She shoved her hand more firmly against the glass, yearning to break through it, to escape to that world that was only a few centimetres away and still impossible to reach. "I am Ahsoka Tano," she whispered under her breath, pressing her forehead against the glass and focusing on the rhythmic beat of the rain. She imagined how it would feel for the droplets to stream down her lekku and her arms, if it would be like the tickle of snowflakes or something entirely different. She didn't care. She wanted it, everything that normal people could have that she couldn't. The sweep of rain against her skin. Memories dating back to age three or four. Friends who couldn't be torn from her at every twist and turn. "I _am_ Ahsoka Tano," she repeated, but she didn't know how much longer she'd remember that, and, with a haunted flicker in her eyes, she stared stoically past the glass as lightning split the sky.

* * *

Her mantra grew more difficult to remember as the days ticked by. The therapy sessions—or so they were called—stretched on for an excrutiating three to four hours at a time. If she was good, which she hardly ever was, they might occasionally allow her to step outside of the therapy room to get some air. But only two or three minutes later, her bodyguards would drag her back inside, and the next session, even more brutal than the last, would begin.

It was one of those rooms that felt like it was perpetually closing in on its occupants, a discomfort that was in no way remedied by the fact that Ahsoka was under constant surveillance. Two of her bodyguards stood next to her at all times, a third stationed behind her chair. The other seven lined the walls of the room, their hands on their blasters. No matter how long she spent in there, Ahsoka's eyes could never quite adjust to the brilliance of the fluorescent lighting, nor the reflection that looked back at her from the mirror on the opposite wall. _I am Ahsoka Tano,_ she told herself desperately, even as she stared into the eyes of the Imperial princess. Her muscles were cramping from having remained in the same position for so long. Sweat had broken out across her forehead and was dribbling down her back. It was too hot in here. There was no air. She fiddled with her skirts restlessly. How she wished she could replace that mirror with a chrono. Precious minutes of her life were slipping through her fingers.

Before her flickered a holo that depicted a scene from when she was five years old. At least, that was what the therapist had told her. A small Princess Ahsoka—still too young for a corset—wriggled in her mother's arms, shrieking with laughter as she tickled her. An eleven-year-old Prince Anakin sat beside the Empress Shmi, smiling at the antics of his little sister. Ahsoka watched for the occasional flickering of the holo, as Padmé had taught her to do. _It wasn't real. It wasn't real._ Why was that becoming harder and harder to remember?

Because if it _was_ real, it meant that she was back home, and she could stop fighting, she could… _no_. A bolt of horror shot through her, jerking Ahsoka back to her senses. What in the galaxy was she thinking? This was wrong. She _knew_ it was wrong. How could she allow herself—for even a second—to go along with the thought that it might not be?

A surge of pain wrenched Ahsoka from her ruminations, and she closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath, just barely repressing a scream. When she opened them again, her therapist was watching her with a cruelly cheerful expression. Her hand hovered just above the button on the arm of her plush chair. "I asked you a question, Your Highness," she said perkily.

Ahsoka's gaze flicked down to the button, then back up at her therapist. Her torturer, more like. Punishments had started out as mild shocks but ramped up in intensity each time she misbehaved. They were "for her own good", as the therapists had put it. Proven to speed up the recovery process. Everyone involved knew that it was a lie. Except that sometimes, Ahsoka feared she might forget it. She feared the punishments would grow so terrible, the sessions so torturous, that it wouldn't be worth it to fight anymore. That it would be smarter to just give in—

No. _No!_ She shook her head as if to rid herself of the thought. She was going crazy, cooped up in this tiny little room all day, at the mercy of the sadistic men and women who frequented it. _Crazy,_ whispered a familiar voice at the back of her head. _Everyone thinks you're crazy. How can you be sure you aren't when the rest of the galaxy is so convinced that you are?_

"I'm sorry," Ahsoka ground out, simultaneously battling back the voice in her head. It demanded that she provide proof of her sanity. _It's too important to leave it to chance. Prove to yourself that you aren't insane. Prove it!_ She told it that the hologram flickered every now and then, a clear sign that it was fake. Not only that, but a bruise still darkened the skin of her right cheek. "I was distracted by the hologram," she told her therapist—and her stomach dropped violently. Another thought had occurred to her. _The kidnappers. They gave you the bruise. They—_

 _No!_ she thought desperately. Every time she scraped together another piece of evidence, her subconscious twisted it so that it could just as easily support Vader's story. And then she was back at square one, lost and without direction, uncertain of what exactly had happened to her or even that she was still sane. _Stop it! I don't believe that, I can't…_

"What is going on in this hologram, Princess?" her therapist asked her. "Do you remember?"

"It's from when I was five years old," Ahsoka answered, almost without hesitation. At this point, she just had to get out of here. She would say whatever it took to earn that two or three minutes of free time. She could sort out her thoughts then. Force, how long had it been since she had stepped outside of this room? Hours? Days? No, not days. The effects of the medication lasted only twelve hours, and she still couldn't feel the Force—not even an inkling of the connection she had once possessed. "My mother is the one holding me. The Empress Shmi."

Her therapist smiled at her. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Good," she said. "Very good." She pointed to the holographic Prince Anakin. "And who is that?"

"My brother," Ahsoka said, and guilt instantly twisted her stomach. Calling Shmi her mother was one thing. Referring to Vader as her brother was something entirely different. The voice challenged her again, asking whether she might really believe what she was saying. She shoved it out of her mind. "When he was only eleven. Before he became emperor."

The therapist nodded slowly. Her red hair licked at her shoulders like flames. In the blinding fluorescent light, her pale skin looked almost translucent, lending her a vague impression of ghostliness. "That's correct, Princess," she praised over-enthusiastically. "Now—"

"Can I step outside?" Ahsoka was nearly begging. She hated herself for it, but she was hanging onto her sanity—assuming she even still had it—by a thread. "Please! Just for a minute."

The therapist's lips curved into a rare frown. Then, without warning, she slammed the heel of her hand against the button. Ahsoka squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingernails into her palms, trying to tear herself out of a maze of agony. By the time the electricity crackled out, her throat felt raw, even though she couldn't remember screaming. "His Imperial Majesty has given me authority over you, Princess." Her therapist's tone was far too elated for the current topic. "By questioning me, you are, by extent, challenging the emperor's decisions. This is sedition."

Ahsoka would have rolled her eyes, had it not been too risky. She had already committed sedition. Wasn't that the very thing that had landed her here? "Yes," she agreed wryly. "It would be unfortunate if the emperor had to execute his little sister, wouldn't it?"

The therapist's hand strayed dangerously close to the button, but she tugged it away at the last second. "Such a shame, Princess," she sighed. "You were just starting to make some progress."

"Well," Ahsoka bit back, "success isn't always a straight line."

Her chances of being awarded a break had dropped from slim to nonexistent, as evidenced by her therapist's pursed lips and narrowed eyes. In the hologram, Empress Shmi, her face aglow with a smile, set a squirming Ahsoka in Prince Anakin's lap. Gently, he gathered her into his arms and pulled her close to his chest. She stilled at once, as if startled by his kind gesture, but practically melted into him a moment later, resting her head against Anakin's shoulder. Ahsoka had to clench her hand into a fist to keep from shattering the holoprojector.

"Let's try this again, Princess. Can you explain what is happening now? In the hologram?"

Ahsoka sliced her gaze upwards. Though her therapist had already plastered on her cheery grin, her fingertips dangled above the arm of her chair, mere centimetres from the button. Ahsoka was too intelligent to miss such an unsubtle warning. She warred with herself for a moment before sucking in a short breath. "When I was young, I enjoyed being around my brother the most," she said quietly. She practically had to drag the words out of her mouth. "I loved my parents, of course, but Anakin and I…we had a special bond."

"Right, right." Her therapist eagerly bobbed her head up and down. "He was your protector."

 _Protector._ Ahsoka remembered the day in the treasury and swallowed the vomit that rose in her throat. "Yeah," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "My _protector."_

Her therapist sighed contentedly, taking an excruciatingly long moment to readjust herself in her chair. Then she propped her elbows in her lap and steepled her fingertips, setting her chin on top. "I suppose, Your Highness, that if you would like to step outside for minute—"

Ahsoka sucked in a rapid breath of relief. "Thank you," she gasped. "Thank you so—"

"One minute. _One."_ The therapist held up her index finger, as if to further clarify her point. "See her out," she added to the guards, "and make sure that she remains safe."

The bodyguards undid the restraints around her waist and ankles (which were allegedly for her own safety, in case she experienced an unforeseen panic attack and attempted to hurt herself) and dragged her to her feet. Her bodyguards, as usual, clumped around her and guided her to the exit. Her heart palpitated in anticipation. The door swooshed open—

—And she came face to face with Emperor Vader.

Ahsoka's mouth dropped into an _O_ of surprise. "Hello, Princess," Vader said dryly. His gaze swept over the guards and then hovered on something behind Ahsoka's right shoulder. She didn't dare to turn around to see what it was. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

She swallowed hard. Her throat was suddenly dry. What was he doing here? He had never come to visit her in the therapy room before. "No, Your Imperial Majesty," she managed, but her eyes betrayed her. They flicked longingly to the door before she could stop them.

A split second later, her gaze wandered back to Vader's. One corner of his mouth had raised into a tight-lipped smile. "I'm glad to hear it," he said. Then he clapped one hand on her shoulder and shoved her roughly down to the floor. She gasped and caught herself in a crouching position, remembering vaguely now that she had been supposed to bow. She spared a peek at the guard next to her, who had already assumed the correct position.

Reluctantly, Ahsoka sank down to the floor, lekku and cheeks burning. A sweltering heat seemed to prickle along her skin as Vader's footsteps tapped against the marble. It was as if he were a cat, she thought, pawing his way around her until ready to unleash his claws.

"Everyone may go," he announced. Ahsoka began to rise, then toppled back into her former position as Vader delivered a sharp kick to her side. "Everyone except the princess."

 _Of course._ She dragged her head upwards to glare at him and, as if in retaliation, he seized her back lek and hauled her to her feet. She grit her teeth together behind pursed lips, trying to maintain a neutral expression. "What are you waiting for?" Vader bellowed, sinking his nails deeper into Ahsoka's lekku. His eyes darted wildly across the room. "Out. Now!"

The last word erupted from his throat as a near roar. The guards and therapist leapt to their feet almost comically, tripping over themselves to get to the door. Ahsoka envied them so much that she almost hated them. Her hands began to tremble, and she grabbed at her skirts to get herself to calm down. _My name is Ahsoka Tano. I was a Jedi Padawan during the Clone Wars. I am a close friend of General Padmé Amidala of the Rebellion. My name is…_

Her mantra was interrupted as Vader tugged her away from the door. Surprisingly, he let go of her and collapsed into the therapist's plush chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Take a seat, Your Highness," he said almost civilly, indicating the chair opposite his. Ahsoka glanced over her shoulder. It was obvious that she didn't have much of a choice. If she tried to escape, it wouldn't take much for Vader or one of his guards to recapture her. She sat down cautiously, half expecting an electric shock. Instead, the emperor flicked his hand nonchalantly, and the restraints once again snapped around her waist and ankles.

Ahsoka ground her teeth together, gripped by sudden fury. It was one thing for him to strip her of the Force. It was another for him to flaunt his own power so shamelessly. He held out his right hand and flexed his fingers, conspicuously avoiding her eyes. "You'll be glad to know that the rest of the galaxy empathizes deeply with you, Princess. Every royal family in the Core has sent you some sort of recovery present, and given that—"

"Cut to the chase," she snapped. "I know you didn't come here to talk about gifts."

He slid his gaze slowly up to hers, and a low chuckle rumbled in the back of his throat. "Very well. I come seeking your help, Ahsoka." Again, it struck her how amiably he said it, as though he considered her a close friend. "I have a…hmm, shall we say…a _dilemma."_

"'A dilemma'," she repeated. She so didn't like the inflection he had placed on the word.

"I'll be frank with you. Prince Erosik's parents weren't pleased to hear of the death of their son." He looked at her pointedly, as if this were supposed to warrant some sort of surprise. "They will be paying a visit to the palace in only a few days' time, for the prince's funeral."

 _Funeral._ Force, Ahsoka hadn't even thought of that. She drummed her fingertips against the arm of her chair. "What does any of this have to do with me?"

Creases appeared along Vader's brow. "It has everything to do with you, Princess. Don't you think that your would-be parents-in-law will want to meet their late son's fiancée?"

Ahsoka closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her temple. "Maybe."

"That was rhetorical, Your Highness. Of course they want to meet you. They've already requested an audience, immediately upon their arrival on Coruscant. Naturally, I spoke to your therapists to see if you were prepared for such an interaction. I was displeased to learn that you have made only…minimal progress." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "That being said, I must ask you: can you promise me, Ahsoka, that you will behave?"

Ahsoka blinked open her eyes. "Yes," she said evenly.

Vader's lips tightened into a straight line. "Forgive me, Princess," he said, rising slowly from his chair, "if your word doesn't mean much to me anymore." He stalked toward her, the red velvet of his cape dragging behind him like a trail of blood. "How do I know that you won't pull another stunt in the presence of the king and queen? How do I know that you won't claim to be a Jedi Padawan or insist that I'm abusing you?" He slammed a hand down on the arm of her chair, leaning in so close that she could feel his breath mist her face. She shoved herself against the back of the chair, trying to get away, but it hardly did any good. She could see her own reflection in his shining yellow eyes. "How do I know any of that so long as you can still remember?"

Ahsoka froze. A breathless terror swelled in her chest, and a shudder rolled down her spine as his words sharpened into meaning. _"No,"_ she gasped, and as if by their own accord, her hands clasped together. Belatedly, she realized that she was shaking her head. "No, no, I promise, _please,_ I promise I'll behave, just let me—" She choked on a sob. Vader's lips parted to reveal a grin. _Stop it, Tano. Stop it. Don't cry, don't beg. It's what he wants._ "You just, you can't—"

"Except that I can, Your Highness." Vader shook his head in mock regret. "I have given you countless chances to prove yourself loyal to me, and every time you throw them away. So I think it's fair that you finally learn to suffer the consequences of your actions. Don't you?"

Ahsoka dropped her head. Her leg muscles were twitching uncontrollably, but she couldn't break away from the restraints. She had come so far! She had come so far, and now she was going to lose it all. _My name is Ahsoka Tano. I was a Jedi Padawan during the Clone Wars. I am a close friend of General Padmé Amidala of the Rebellion._ An involuntary cry ripped from her throat, a desperate amalgamation of a scream and a sob. "Please don't do this," she whispered.

"Don't cry, Princess," Vader said, lifting her chin with a surprisingly gentle hand. He reached to wipe a tear from her cheek, but Ahsoka slapped his hand away. He raised his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed, and knelt down to her level. "It will all be over soon," he said, and Ahsoka wanted to run, she wanted to run so badly and she _couldn't,_ all she could do was _sit_ here! And in a few hours, she wouldn't know who she was and there would be no Padmé to tell her and her life would drift by—meaningless, empty—and she'd have no idea that there had been better times or that she deserved more. She wouldn't know that it was possible to truly be loved.

Hatred was a scorching sensation that bubbled in her throat and roiled in her chest, somehow encompassing enough to briefly overwhelm the claustrophobia that accompanied powerlessness. "Don't you remember?" she bit out, or at least that's what she thought she was saying, but the words bled into each other, her senses blurred by panic and enmity. "Don't you remember when I was your apprentice, and I trusted you? More than anyone else, I trusted _you!_ I wanted to _be_ like you. How? How can you live with your—"

 _"_ _Anything. I don't remember anything. I don't know who I am, or who you are, or…"_

Her words drained into an impossibly high-pitched scream as unimaginable pain exploded behind her forehead. She couldn't remember, suddenly, what she had just been saying or why, but Force, what did it matter? Her vocabulary, in only a second, had narrowed to a single word: _Stop. Stop. Stop it, stop, stop!_ Pain was not—not what it had looked like—not just thrashing and sobbing, but—but disorientation, and not knowing who or where she was, the indignity of having consciousness of only one thing: the fact that it just had to stop—make it stop, stop, _stop!_ —or else she might die; the urge to wrench away this invisible dagger that was mangling her mind, slashing away pieces of who she was and leaving scorching wounds in its wake.

 _"_ _I…I don't remember that, of course. But that's what Anakin told me—"_

 _"_ _And you believe it?"_

Her vision was flooded by darkness, but once in awhile it was broken up by fractures of light, and she thought she could see remnants of her memories before they melted out of her grasp. Words floated into her earshot, raw and strained, and she couldn't quite make them out, but they were familiar, and did they…did they belong to her?

 _"_ _You're too young. I've told Anakin you're too young, but he won't listen to me."_

 _"_ _There. I just saw it. There's still some of Ahsoka Tano left in you, Princess."_

 _"_ _I never agreed to any of this. Once, I fought the emperor. I fought him!"_

Another slash of pain sent her thoughts skittering out of control or comprehension, but wait—the blobs of light were converging into a woman's gentle face, and she wore a smile that said everything would be okay. A small twinge of hope warmed Ahsoka's chest as she tried to reach out for the woman, her lips moving around words that she could not seem to form. _I am friends—General Padmé Amidala of the Rebellion—_ and the woman grasped her hand, squeezing it between her own, and said, "Fight." Simply that one word, but somehow it was a battle cry, and Ahsoka looked into her tempestuous dark eyes and knew the promise she had to make.

"I will," she whispered, as fear whetted itself into tearing agony. "But Padmé, please…"

"Shh." Padmé trailed a hand down Ahsoka's lekku. Backlight flooded the open space behind her, lending her hair a golden, even angelic glow. "You're strong enough. You don't need me."

"You're…you're not real," Ahsoka realized, her voice thick with despair. "But…but Padmé, no! You can't leave me with him! You promised! You promised we'd see each other again after—"

"Pull it together, Ahsoka. You're better than this. _Fight._ You can fight him." A sentimental smile touched Padmé's lips. The warmth of her hand dissipated as her image began to curl away. "Listen. I can go no further. You are on your own now. But you still have a spark inside of you, Ahsoka Tano. Don't let it go out. It must continue to burn."

Ahsoka nodded. "It will," she declared, and Padmé's image shattered into tiny pieces and was whisked away, as if scattered by the wind. A black curtain dropped over Ahsoka's vision, and the pain slammed back into her consciousness. Another memory fragment—and—

 _"_ _Don't thank me, Tano. You're the one who's going to save the galaxy."_

 _"_ _The Force is not a weapon, Ahsoka."_

 _"_ _I don't want amnesty! I want freedom!"_

Her stomach swooped into a plummet—falling, falling—couldn't catch herself, she was—what was even _happening,_ what was this—what was—

 _"_ _Pooja and—and at Varykino, he—and—I swear to the Force I'm going to kill him!"_

 _"_ _Ahsoka, it's okay. You're safe now. Don't you believe me?"_

 _"_ _You deserve it, Padmé. You've risked everything for this. Sacrificed everything."_

And the words trickled into the music of rushing wind— _gold, sunsets, soaring_ —and then, with an abrupt jolt of her heart, she recognized the scene flickering before her eyes: the day in the speeder with Padmé, when she had told her that her knowledge of piloting had come mostly from Ahsoka herself. _You still have a spark inside of you, Ahsoka Tano. Don't let it go out._

And maybe it was the words of Padmé's apparition or the memory of that day or both, but Ahsoka suddenly couldn't lose herself again—she couldn't, she _wouldn't_ —and determination swelled within her as she pushed back. This was the man who had stolen her once, and he would not do it again! He would not! She could feel him contending with her, trying to shove past her defence, and his own persistence only intensified her agony…

 _"_ _I'm so proud of you. Really, Ahsoka. You've come so far."_

…And a scream ripped from her raw throat…

 _"_ _Well, well, well, Princess. At last, we meet again."_

…And she threw back her head, arching her body as dramatically as she could, panting for one more precious breath as a bout of pain lanced through her mind…

 _"_ _If you had cared about me, you would have let me go. Like Anakin Sky—"_

…And then something snapped, as abruptly as a twig underfoot. And it wasn't her. It was _him_.

And the pain all fluttered away, and Ahsoka was tumbling down a shimmering white tunnel, but peace hummed around her, and she knew now that she was in control. _"Are you the One? Are you the One? Are you the One?"_ She never quite landed, though the walls of the tunnel dissipated and suddenly she found herself in some sort of living room. A teenage girl sat on the couch with her legs crossed, and a man behind her paced restlessly back and forth. Ahsoka realized a moment later that the girl was familiar—the girl was _her,_ only a few years younger. And the man, unsurprisingly, was Anakin Skywalker.

Younger Ahsoka fiddled with the hem of her tunic, her lips pursed into a firm line. "You shouldn't have," she said finally, her voice raw. "You shouldn't have, Master."

"Well, what did you _want_ me to do, Ahsoka?" he demanded, quickening the speed of his pacing. She twisted her body to look at him over the back of the couch. "Just…let you die?"

Young Ahsoka bit her lip. "Maybe," she granted quietly. "Master, I had _already_ died. What if it was the will of the Force, and when you interfered you—"

"I don't _care_ about the will of the Force!" Anakin turned on his apprentice with blazing eyes, and she flinched back. He realized his mistake a moment later and took a step towards her, softening his expression. "My job as your master is to protect you, Ahsoka. That's what I did."

"But how far would you go to do that?" She broke away her gaze and pinned it to the right arm of the couch, frowning pensively. "That's what worries me."

Anakin's brow creased in concern, but before he could respond, the scene crumpled in on itself and slipped away to reveal an entirely different location. A gust of wind nipped at Ahsoka's back lek, and when she turned in its direction, her eyes instantly stung from collision with a cloud of sand. She groaned and flinched away, blinking repeatedly to clear her vision. Before her stretched a small workshop with a low, domed roof and walls the colour of desert. A young boy with a mop of sandy hair was perched on a nearby counter, his fingers a blur as he arranged and rearranged various pieces of metal. As Ahsoka drew closer, she noticed that clumps of dust and sand were trapped in the folds of his threadbare tunic. Despite the fact that Vader and the handmaidens did not allow her to choose her own clothes, the pale green silk of her gown made her feel suddenly out of the place—ashamed, even.

Her eyes darted upwards as a woman's silhouette materialized in an arched threshold. She took a few steps forward—"Ani," she called, her voice almost melodic—but Ahsoka hardly heard because she _recognized_ her. This was the Empress Shmi, the woman who, according to the therapists' faulty claims, had been Ahsoka's mother. But she certainly didn't resemble an empress; she wore a tattered beige dress that looked as though it had been subjected to far too many washings, and instead of an elaborate up-do, her hair was bunched into a simple bun. Lines that seemed out of place on her otherwise young face snaked beneath her eyes and along her forehead. For a moment, Ahsoka—stunned at seeing her without a tiara or an intricate ensemble—could not tear away her gaze, even as Shmi glided towards the little boy and set her hands on his shoulders. "What's wrong, Ani?" she said, even more gently than before.

The boy didn't look at her. His hands danced more frantically over the pieces of metal, and he scrunched up his face as if battling back tears. "Mom, he…he hurt me…"

The air shot out of Ahsoka's lungs as her head knocked against something and black spots exploded violently in her vision. When she once again regained the strength to blink open her eyes, Vader's face swam only a few centimetres away, and she realized somewhat numbly that he was gripping her by the neck, just loosely enough for her to breathe. "What did you _do?"_ he thundered, but Ahsoka couldn't help but notice that something in his tone bordered on hysterical. "How did you—you shouldn't even have the Force, you—tell me, you little brat, what did Kenobi teach you? What in the Force's name did you do?"

"I don't know," she said, somehow managing to keep her tone steady, even as he dug his metal fingers deeper into the sides of her neck. "And if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

He stared at her for a moment, his irises pulsing with yellow flame. "You're lying to me."

"No, I'm—"

"I don't tolerate dishonesty, Princess."

"Oh. Oh, yeah? You don't tolerate dishonesty?" A derisive laugh bubbled up in the back of Ahsoka's throat, and a crash of white hot anger bolted through her, laced with something like power. "So how come you lied to me for months about my identity? How come you're trying to rewrite the past? You know what _I_ think? I think there's something you're trying to escape from, and it's related to what I just saw, isn't it? That little boy in the workshop, that was you, and—"

The door unexpectedly swooshed open, and Ahsoka's words died on her lips as she turned to see who had entered. Grand Moff Tarkin stood at the head of a cluster of guards, his eyes narrow slits that welled with contempt. "What is going on here, Emperor Vader?" he demanded. His gaze flicked suspiciously to Ahsoka, as though she were the perpetrator of all of the trouble.

Vader released her neck and snapped off her restraints with the Force, snatching her by her upper arm and flinging her into the arms of the nearest guard. "Get her out of my sight."

"Oh, so as soon as I best you, you can't even bear to look at me?" Ahsoka would have lunged at him had the guard not established such a firm grip on her upper arm. "What, am I too much a reminder of your failure? You're such a coward that you can't acknowledge your mistakes?"

"If you don't shut up now, Princess, I'll make you." His gaze sliced from her to Tarkin. "Did you not hear me the first time, officer? I _told_ you to escort her out."

Tarkin bristled, visibly offended at having been referred to as a mere officer. "But where—"

"It doesn't matter _where_. Her chambers, one of her classrooms…the Force-forsaken dungeons, for all I care! Just remove her from my presence before I take out my anger on all of you."

The guard holding Ahsoka gave a frantic tug at her upper arm, and she shot one last glare at Vader before they dragged her out. He pursed his lips into a thinly veiled smirk, as though _she_ had been the one to lose—or he knew something she didn't. A chill swept down her spine, but she turned away and fixed her gaze stubbornly ahead of her.

That night, in her room, she sat at her vanity and thought of Padmé's apparition. Unless it was part of her mantra, Ahsoka had tried her best not to think of Padmé, lest she become overly hopeful about the prospect of a rescue and lose the will to fight Vader on her own. But now she couldn't help it, as the words of Padme's image were burned into her memory.

 _You still have a spark inside of you, Ahsoka Tano. Don't let it go out._

She remembered watching Padmé wail in grief after the death of her sister, and the responsibility Ahsoka herself had quietly undertaken in looking after Luke, Leia, and Ryoo. Even then, she had had a small spark. And that determination had only strengthened after she had witnessed Padmé become leader of the Rebellion. There had been something to do with that promotion that had happened soon afterwards—something involving Ahsoka—

She frowned, pushing farther into her memory banks, as a burst of panic bolted through her. She knew this. She knew she knew it. She just…she just had to reach a little farther…

But the memory, a gaping hole plopped in the middle of a collage of images, could not— _would_ not—be filled, however hard Ahsoka tried to grasp onto it. She and Padmé had gone to Alderaan, Padmé had gotten a promotion, Ahsoka had had a vision, and—something else had happened, surely, between her vision and breakfast the next day. Something—

But there was nothing.

It was gone.

* * *

 **Jedi Master Megan: Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed it and were also able to find the Mortis references. :) I will dive into more information about Padmé and her plan next chapter.**

 **GlamGram: Thank you for both of your reviews. :) I am so excited to hear that you are enjoying the writing and the story; hearing this kind of feedback always makes my day. I really enjoyed writing the scene with Padmé and Ahsoka in the speeder, so I was glad to hear that you liked that, too.**

 **Thanks for all of your support! Please review and let me know what you think! :)**

 **-Isabelle**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hi, everyone. I know. It's been awhile.**

 **I've been grappling with some unexpected health issues for the past four months that have thrown my life into chaos. Needless to say, I just didn't have much time to focus on anything besides school and my recovery, so I had to put fanfiction on the backburner for a little while. I am happy to say that I finally did scrape together enough time to get this chapter written out, though, and I believe it is my longest so far, so hopefully that will make up for the extremely long delay in my posting.**

 **That being said, I still have every intention of finishing this story! I even have an outline that roughly plots out how the rest of it is going to go. With my new situation, it just might take me a little longer than I initially anticipated, but I really appreciate all of your patience and your kind comments and support. They definitely keep me going.**

 **A lot has changed in the past months, but one thing that has _not_ changed is that I still do not own Star Wars. (Shocker, right?) So here's the usual disclaimer...as you all know, this is just a work of fanfiction. Also, as a warning, there are graphic depictions of violence in the first part of this chapter. I just wanted to let you all know beforehand in case this bothers anyone.**

 **Because it's been so long, here's a quick recap of the last couple of chapters: Padmé is now stranded on Raada after the Battle of Ilum and has recently learned that Ahsoka, Luke, and Leia have been captured by Vader; when Vader announces Ahsoka's "rescue" to the galaxy, she attempts to tell everyone the truth of what has _really_ happened since Order 66, which results in Lahnya Adira's execution; Vader then attempts to wipe Ahsoka's mind, but she manages to resist and even catches a glimpse of some of his own memories in the process. However, she is quickly learning that even though she can still remember who she is right now, she is gradually losing her memories one by one.**

 **I will answer all reviews at the end of the chapter. Thank you again for all of your support.**

 **Love, Isabelle**

* * *

 ** _One Week Later_**

 _The execution of Empress Ceciliana II sparked the first Galactic Civil War…taking advantage of the chaotic state of Imperial affairs, Luka Skywalker, long dissatisfied with the corruption breeding amongst the nobility and the Jedi Order, rallied thousands of working class citizens and launched a coup to overthrow Emperor Callius III…upon his victory, Skywalker himself assumed the throne, guiding the galaxy back to a state of security. His coronation marked the beginning of the longest, most prosperous age in galactic history, the Skywalker Regime…_

Ahsoka's vision blurred out of focus, and she blinked a couple of times, struggling to remember a word of what she had just read. She returned her gaze to the page of the book—made of real parchment, for paper books were a significant status symbol—but just looking at it made her head swim, so she closed her eyes and let her chin nod down to her chest. Her tiara, which had always been heavy to begin with, felt as if it had tripled in weight. Exhaustion was dragging her down, more desperately than even an hour before, but somehow, she scraped together the strength to tug open her eyes. _Resist._ She had been fighting sleep for days on end, and she couldn't succumb to it now. Every time she did, she woke up missing even more memories…

A flicker of fear spiked through Ahsoka's chest, but she suppressed it and instead refocused her gaze on the book. _Emperor Vader and Empress Amidala would later name their first-born son, the Imperial Crown Prince Luke, after the hero who began their royal lineage._ She shook her head slightly. Even while swamped in murky half-consciousness, she knew that couldn't be true. _None_ of this was true. "Someone get me some caf," she muttered incoherently.

"Beg pardon, Your Highness?"

Ahsoka lifted her gaze to glare at the handmaiden who had spoken, who in turn took a few startled steps backwards. "I want some caf. Get me some." Maybe she should have phrased it more delicately, but she was tired of being polite. Everyone else around her just took what they wanted. Why, then, shouldn't she be allowed to do the same?

"Maybe you should go to sleep, Princess," the handmaiden suggested tentatively. "You look—"

"What, tired?" Ahsoka bit out, even though she knew that "tired" was an understatement. She hadn't slept in days, and she was pretty sure it had been even longer since the guards or handmaidens had brought her anything substantial to eat. She could tell from just looking in the mirror that she had already lost unhealthy amounts of weight, and the roaring pain in her stomach would have been enough to drive most people to madness. "I'm still your princess, aren't I? So why, for Force's sake, aren't you following my orders?"

She was repulsed by the words as soon as they escaped her lips. _Force._ When had she begun to sound so much like Vader? The handmaiden must have been thinking the same thing, for her eyes swelled with shock. "Come now, Your Highness. Let's calm down." She turned to her left to see Grand Moff Tarkin striding towards her, his hands clasped behind his back. She instantly jerked her gaze back to her book, her eyes flaring with hatred. He had been assigned to her room as a permanent guard after she had first attempted to escape her chambers a few days ago. In all honesty, any memories she had of the incident were foggy, though she figured she had been driven so insane by sleep and food deprivation that she had no longer been able to stand the claustrophobic confines of her chambers. No matter how sprawling or glamourous they were, this room was still a glorified cell, and Ahsoka was the prisoner.

She had a vague recollection of clawing at the doors and screaming, and then collapsing into the darkness as a wave of pain ripped through the back of her head. She had woken up sprawled across her bed, lacking any memory of what had happened immediately after Sola's death. Had she and Padmé gone right to Alderaan, or had they stopped somewhere else first? In the midst of her panic, one of her guards, perched on a stool to the right of her bed, had informed her that she had passed out from sleep deprivation. But when he'd stood up, his cloak had shifted slightly, and Ahsoka had caught a glimpse of a club swinging from his left hip.

"Perhaps the handmaiden is right, Princess," Tarkin continued, coming to a stop at the side of her desk. "It's almost nightfall. You should take care of yourself and get some rest."

She shot him a dry look. "But I'm so enjoying this history lesson, Grand Moff."

He huffed, grabbing the cover of her book and trying to shut it. Ahsoka wedged her fingers between two pages at the back and slammed it open again, suppressing a smile as Tarkin yanked his fingers out of the way. "Would you really deprive me of a learning opportunity?"

She burrowed her nose in her book before she could see his reaction, though she heard him shift his weight and scoff indignantly. "You won't be able to stay awake forever, Princess," he murmured. She raised her eyebrows as if she didn't really care, even though the threat in his voice unnerved her. _He knew._ They _all_ knew. The guards, the handmaidens, the officers…they knew about her memory loss. They knew why she was fighting sleep so desperately.

Ahsoka pursed her lips together and leaned even closer to her book, trying to ignore the heat of Tarkin's gaze on the back of her neck. _As a young boy, he had enjoyed various intellectual pursuits, particularly the sciences, as well as sparring with his father and spending time with his younger sister, Princess Ahsoka._ Her heart jolted, and for a moment, she was convinced that exhaustion had led her to hallucinate her own name. But as she scanned the paragraph again, her eyes caught on the subheader immediately above it: _Prince Anakin and His Childhood._ She snatched the bottom left corner of the page and flipped back to the beginning of the chapter, nearly recoiling when her eyes landed on the title.

 _The Modern Era: Emperor Vader's Ascension to the Throne and the Great Imperial Golden Age._

 _Golden Age._ These were the kinds of lies they were already writing in textbooks? She tore back to the page she had landed on earlier, once again locating her name. _Princess Ahsoka._ She wasn't mentioned for another eight pages, when the book delved into the fictional tale of the invaders' attack on the palace. Empress Shmi, too, was referenced just three times, and only ever in relation to her husband or son. Ahsoka was disgusted but lamentably unsurprised by the sheer masculinity of the text—the way women were written out of the story. Patriarchy had already imbedded itself within Vader's empire, new as his regime was: Commander Offee was the only high-ranking female officer Ahsoka had met, and even though Luke and Leia were twins, Vader had chosen his son as heir to the throne. Yet seeing further evidence of it in print—in what was supposed to pass as _history_ —still made Ahsoka burn in quiet rage.

She flipped back to the pages about the invaders' attack on the palace. _The criminals had their sights set not only on murdering the emperor and empress, but also on abducting their daughter and Prince Anakin's younger sister, Princess Ahsoka. After being forced to watch as her handmaidens were gunned down, panic and lack of combat training rendered the princess incapable of defending herself. Had her brother not dispatched the invaders and rescued the Princess Ahsoka, known today as one of his most legendary instances of heroism, her fate would have been precarious at best._ Even the subheading— _The Rescue of Princess Ahsoka_ —painted the archetypical tale of a damsel-in-distress. How? How could they reduce her to…to _that,_ even after she'd fought her first war at age fourteen?

Despite her exhaustion, ire flickered through Ahsoka, interlaced with brief flashes of newfound determination. She ransacked her desk for a pen or pencil but found none. The ability to write was clearly a power Emperor Vader did not want her to have. After a moment of deliberation, she ascended from her chair and strode briskly across the room to her vanity, rifling through a drawer full of makeup until she found what she was looking for.

She marched back across the room with her weapon in hand, ignoring Tarkin's suspicious gaze and the guards' stiffened postures. As she once again slid into her chair, she uncapped the lip liner and hovered the tip above the page. In her peripheral vision, she saw the guards advancing toward her, but she grit her teeth and pretended she didn't notice. Her right hand flew furiously across the page, staining it with frantic marks the colour of blood. She was rewriting the story—she was telling her _true_ story. _At age fourteen, after becoming General Anakin Skywalker's apprentice, Ahsoka Tano was named a Jedi Commander in the Grand Army of the Republic. She went on to fight in many prominent battles of the Clone Wars, including the Second Battle of Geonosis, the Battle of Ryloth, and the—_

She lunged to the ground as someone came hurtling towards her. Silver flashed in her peripheral vision—a knife? A dagger? Thinking fast, she pushed her chair in front of herself as a shield, but he plucked it off the ground and flung it out of the way, stepping heavily on her skirts to halt her movement. Ahsoka struggled, yanking on the delicate fabric until it tore with a loud _riiiiiiiip_. She stumbled to her feet and snatched the textbook off the desk. "Don't…," she started, lifting her gaze to make eye contact with her opponent—and then she froze.

Tarkin was watching her keenly, his eyes almost eerily impassive. Her throat tightened as she noticed the gleam of a dagger in his right hand, but she quickly regained her composure, lifting the book above her head like a weapon. "Don't come near me."

He pursed his lips into a line. "I have my orders, Princess. Stop any foolish behaviour that reflects loyalty to the criminals who captured you. The very ones who murdered your fiancé—"

"Save your breath," Ahsoka snapped. "I'm sick and tired of your lies. _All_ of your lies!" She swept her gaze over the mob of guards, who had clustered around her in a circle. A burst of claustrophobia twisted her gut, but she held her ground. "What, the emperor can't even let me _write_ without sending people to attack me? What kind of—"

A glint of silver a split second beforehand was her sole warning. She thrust the book out in front of her, just barely slowing the path of the dagger, but somehow it still tore through the covers and pages, slicing along the flesh of her left forearm. The book slipped from her grasp and she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. Before she could fully process what had just happened, one of the guards snatched her right arm and twisted it back, yanking her down to her knees with such force that her tiara toppled from her head. Tarkin bent down before her, taking her right wrist and caressing the wound with the tip of the dagger. Ahsoka battled back a scream as he dug it deeper into her flesh, squeezing her eyes shut and begging the Force for strength. The pain was so hellish that it drove her into a state of wooziness, and in her terror of losing consciousness, another breathless fear set in: that he might either purposefully or inadvertently damage something important.

When she opened her eyes again, the look of hatred blazoned across his features was so pronounced that she almost couldn't believe she was looking at a real human being. Suddenly, she was whisked back to the vision she had received on Alderaan—thank the Force she could still remember that—and the way he had looked at her with such unadulterated malice in the courtroom. Why? What had she done to him to make him hate her so much?

"Let me catch you disobeying the emperor one more time"—he plunged the dagger deeper, then ripped it upwards with such force that Ahsoka finally screamed—"and I'll have worse punishments waiting for you." He stood up and dropped the dagger disgustedly. It clattered against the hardwood, splattering blood onto the fallen tiara.

Ahsoka stared numbly at her arm for a moment, trembling with the exertion of remaining conscious in spite of the blood loss. It was the most physically violent abuse anyone had inflicted on her so far. She almost couldn't believe Vader's officers would sacrifice their carefully maintained subtlety just for the fun of torturing her. _Fun._ What had she even done wrong? Jot down a few sentences? She didn't even have the right to wield a _pen_ anymore?

Her shock evaporated, replaced instantly by writhing anger. _You still have a spark inside of you, Ahsoka Tano. Don't let it go out._ She snatched up the bloody tiara with her right hand and hurdled it as hard as she could at Tarkin. She would have preferred a piece of durasteel or a slab of concrete, but the tiara would have to do. It slammed into the back of his head with a _crack_ , and he stumbled forward before whipping around to stare at her. She reciprocated his gaze with a withering glare and said, "You can have it. I don't want it."

He took a step towards her, and she quickly clutched her left wrist with her right hand, pressing it protectively against her chest. But before he could get too close, three of her handmaidens dropped down beside her, guiding her to her feet and leading her toward the refresher. "Let's clean out that wound, Princess," one of them whispered, as calmly as if this were normal.

Ahsoka clenched her jaw and dug her fingernails into her palm as the handmaidens scrubbed at her injured forearm with cold water, working as efficiently and aloofly as components of a factory machine. Then they applied disinfectant, tightly wrapped a bandage around the wound, and ushered her back into her room. Shivering, she climbed on top of her bed and wrapped herself tightly in a blanket, which provided a desperately-needed illusion of warmth and safety. Her head throbbed as though somebody were grinding a pestle against her temple, and exhaustion tugged her eyelids closed. She forced them open again. _Awake. Stay awake. Awake._ Some part of her still knew the word was an alarm, but by now, repetition had nearly eroded its meaning, leaving only those two hollow syllables lingering behind. _Awake. Awake. Awake._

* * *

She didn't want to pass by the room on the left. Rosy beams of light tumbled through the gaping doorway, painting silhouettes along the walls and carpeting of the corridor. In the still darkness of early morning, Barriss felt almost that those glowing silhouettes regarded her with a steely eye, whispering quietly amongst themselves of her sins. But none of this had been ordained by her, and she therefore could not be the one to blame. She was merely another gear in the clockwork of the Empire, another piece that kept it functioning well enough to avoid the calamity of anarchy and chaos. Ahsoka—as stupid and naïve as she was—had wedged herself between the gears, as if she alone could halt the flow of the machine. It was Barriss's job to wrench her out, returning the Empire and its citizens to a state of blissful security.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

So why did it feel, as she padded down the hallway, that weights were fastened around her ankles, slowing her every step to an excruciating crawl? Why did she fear to see the icy glint of maddened blue eyes, or her former friend thrashing on the floor and shrieking unintelligibly—distant from the people who physically surrounded her, imprisoned in the world of the insane?

Barriss knew what Vader had arranged for Ahsoka after she had been recaptured. Confinement for hours on end in a stifling little room; electrical torture; Vader's versions of the past beaten over her head so many times that she would eventually believe herself to be crazy. Of course, the Princess Ahsoka _was_ crazy. Barriss knew that. All of Vader's officers knew that. She'd even heard rumours that the princess—who had been kept in her chambers for a few days, for her own safety—had tried to escape, scratching her nails against the locked doors like some wild animal, screaming that somebody was trying to _steal_ her. Despite her best efforts, the thought of such a sight still made Barriss feel queasy, and she couldn't help but relive—for just one second—the moments when she too had brushed up against madness, trapped in the never-ending darkness of solitary confinement, without even a flickering sense of hope.

She had purposefully avoided the so-called "therapy room" where Ahsoka had undergone her sessions, under the pretext of having more important business to attend to. Grand Moff Tarkin had gladly taken her place whenever a high-ranking official was needed. But now the emperor himself had ordered her to fetch the Princess Ahsoka, and Barriss could hide no longer.

She approached the doors of the princess's suite almost gingerly, and her heart gave a violent jolt as she peered past the threshold. Yet the tension fled her body as she saw not a crazed young woman, but a still, poised figure, sitting perfectly straight against the back of a chair. A cluster of handmaidens bustled frantically around her, but the princess kept her posture impeccable, behaving as though she had no knowledge of their presence.

So still. She was so, so still.

Barriss took a single step into Ahsoka's chambers. The bodyguards lined along the walls snapped into an attentive position, saluting her as she passed by. Her boots clicked in time against the hardwood floor, their echoes ricocheting through the massive room. Ahsoka still did not turn around. Barriss wished she would. She had already tired of the sticky silence that permeated the room. It was as if she were dragging herself through sap.

At last, she came to a stop behind the princess's chair, clasping her hands behind her back. If she stood at just the right angle, she could see Ahsoka's reflection in the mirror of her vanity. Her eyes were shut, but her brow was furrowed and her face was ashen. Her right hand trembled almost imperceptibly; she kept snatching at her skirts to calm herself.

"Your Highness," Barriss said, and at last, Ahsoka's eyes fluttered open. She found Barriss's gaze in the mirror and instantly hardened her expression, curling her bottom lip.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her voice gravelly from disuse. Before Barriss could reply, she closed her eyes again and leaned back in her chair. "Let me guess. Prince Erosik's parents have arrived on Coruscant, haven't they? And they want to meet me—"

"No, Princess," Barriss said curtly. "Not his parents. Just the emperor."

"'Just the emperor'," Ahsoka muttered under her breath. She blinked open her eyes and dropped back her head, staring up at the ceiling. _"Just."_

Barriss waited a moment before speaking again. "We used to be friends, you know."

"Friends?" Ahsoka scoffed. "I find that difficult to believe."

"No. We were. While your parents were still alive, and I was training to join the royal guard, they let us spend time together. I was one of the only friends you had who was around your age—"

"Force," Ahsoka breathed, her tone hardened by bitterness. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Barriss hesitated, mildly surprised by Ahsoka's outburst. She'd come to think of her as easy to manipulate. Her premature exposure to war could only ever have resulted in increased dependence on her friends, even if she had tried to hide it. But this Ahsoka was not the same person she had known. She had been forced to become callous and independent in order to ensure her own survival. She didn't even have memory of the bubbly, energetic girl she had been before, the one Barriss had had her heart set on punishing. But knowing that Ahsoka didn't even remember their past interactions? It made revenge seem a little bit…pointless.

At last, the handmaidens subsided and Ahsoka pulled herself to her feet, taking her skirts in her hands. She gave an audible sigh and traipsed toward the door, as if so exhausted that she could hardly bear to stand. One of the handmaidens lunged to steady her as she careened abruptly to the right, but the princess just shrugged out of her grasp with a brief shake of her head. Barriss wondered, suddenly, if she had slept at all last night—or even in the past _week_ , for Force's sake—before noticing something else: a jagged scar that snaked along Ahsoka's left forearm, swollen and red and angry. _New._ But how—when—who? Barriss inhaled quickly as something uncomfortable coiled within her stomach. Something like…something like _guilt_.

"Princess," she called, and Ahsoka threw a glance over her shoulder, her eyes flickering with contempt. "If it's any compensation, you…" She searched frantically for a compliment that Emperor Vader would approve of, something that might ameliorate Ahsoka's mood in the slightest. Those two criteria weren't exactly compatible, but she did manage a pathetic, "You look really elegant. Like…like your mother, the Empress Shmi."

She did, too. Aquamarine silk exploded around her like ocean waves, the colour fading into white near the hem of the gown. Pearls, showered generously across the rippling skirts, gleamed in the iridescent light of the chandeliers, and diamonds shimmered along her collarbone and wrists like stars. Back when they were both Padawans, convincing Ahsoka to wear even a party dress would have been monumental. Yet now, regal and poised, she looked as if she'd been born the Imperial princess. She almost reminded Barriss of Padmé Amidala. But Ahsoka just stared at her stonily, as though she couldn't believe such a shallow compliment was supposed to suffice. "That's no compensation," she said. "But thanks."

Barriss could have punished her for speaking so disrespectfully—so _sarcastically_ —to a representative of the emperor. But she didn't. More surprising was that she didn't even want to. She just nodded and watched the princess file out, her shoes clicking against the hardwood as a swarm of bodyguards bunched around her. Barriss looked away as Ahsoka disappeared past the threshold, alone in the cavernous room with only her swirling thoughts as company.

She crumpled onto a settee sofa at the end of the princess's canopy bed, realizing as her posture collapsed how _tired_ she was, and traced the patterned satin almost mindlessly. She had already made her decision. And not when she had agreed, driven to delusional madness by months of solitary confinement, to join Emperor Vader. No. She had made her decision long before then, the very moment she had decided to bomb the Temple hangar and to frame Ahsoka for the crime. She had betrayed her then, and she would betray her again and again and again, because those were the laws of inertia, weren't they? It was easy—so tantalizingly _easy_ —to mindlessly race down her current path, her acceleration mounting as she went, further trapping her in the decision she had made so long ago, and someday soon, she would reach a point when to wrench away from it would be fatal, because that would mean—

No. She would never be strong enough for that.

There was no turning back now.

* * *

Padmé peered over the backwall of the Raada shipyard, watching her target with a close eye. The woman's silky hair, secured in place by a jewelled comb, shone radiantly in the glow of the sunrise. Padmé still didn't know her name. She knew only what she needed to know, the bits and pieces she had gathered from the woman's visits to Selda's cantina. She lived in the Core. She had come here for a few days to visit relatives. She was rich.

And she was leaving Raada this morning, headed for Hosnian Prime on her personal yacht.

From there, Padmé could easily catch a transport to Coruscant, funded by the money she had made serving at Selda's cantina. Though most of Raada had immediately denounced her as the crazy, drunk, or overemotional newcomer—or, if she was particularly unlucky, all three—Selda had taken her under his wing, and he had even been kind enough to give her a job at his place so that she could support herself. The problem was, neither he nor Kaeden had a ship. Anyone on Raada who _did_ was automatically part of an elite that refused to give lowly Teckla Minnau a ride. So, after an array of failed negotiations with people who had turned their noses up at her, Padmé had decided to take matters into her own hands.

She had been fortunate enough, a few days later, to receive a new customer, one with a crisply pleated skirt and jewellry draped around her neck. Padmé knew wealth when she saw it. She had at once requested to wait on the woman's table and had then, between courses or rounds of drinks, proceeded to ask her ostensibly innocuous questions: Where was she from? Why was she on Raada? When exactly was she going back home?

Padmé hefted herself over the wall, landing delicately on her feet as the woman disappeared up the loading ramp. Now was her chance. She sprinted for the ship as the ramp began to close, grasping onto the edge and squirming through the remaining sliver of open space. The toe of her boot caught at the last second, and a cold wash of dread seeped through her. She yanked herself forward as forcefully as she could until she heard the _riiiiip_ that signalled the boot had come free. Flung forward by inertia, Padmé caught herself on her sweaty palms, her heart beating out frantic rhythms that seemed to echo in her ears.

She leapt to her feet, ignoring the head rush that followed, and scrambled for the nearest door. _A hiding place._ Her trembling fingers fluttered over the control panel, but she froze as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her heart gave a jerk and plunked down into her stomach, but as she swept her gaze over her shoulder, she saw nothing.

Nothing to be concerned about, anyway.

She turned back toward the door. Her hand was shaking visibly now, even as she tried to remove the control panel so she could override the system. What had come over her? She had dealt with more stressful situations than this. As if to remind her, the scars on her back—a parting gift from Geonosis—prickled with a sort of foreboding.

Padmé held her breath and tugged again at the panel, but it was screwed too tightly to the wall. _Blast it._ Thinking fast—an instinct honed by years of training alongside her handmaidens—she plucked a bobby pin from her hair and inserted it into the loosest of the screws. "Come _on,"_ she urged under her breath, struggling to keep a grip on her makeshift—and lamentably delicate—screwdriver. The pin's ridges were already slick with sweat, though, and it slipped quickly from her fingers to clatter against the floor. As she bent to pick it up, another ghostly hand tickled her neck, and she bolted breathlessly around to greet…nothing.

 _Nothing. It's nothing. Cut it out, Padmé._ She shot to her feet and fiddled with the screw for a moment, finally coaxing it out of its place in the wall and pulling the panel partway open. Then she made a fist around the wires and yanked at them until they snapped.

The door clicked open, and Padmé slipped into the welcome embrace of darkness, closing it behind her. She took a step backwards and startled—something had brushed her shoulder! Something…silky? Padmé reached around to finger the hem of what she thought might be a cape, or maybe a luxury coat or jacket. Her heart rate once again calmed, and the pit in her stomach dissolved slightly. She'd stepped into a closet, then. The perfect place for a stowaway.

The _predictable_ place for a stowaway.

Her chest clenched again at the thought, and she backed further into the closet, silk lapping against her arms and shoulders like waves. She closed her eyes and let the fabric swallow her whole, and it was at that moment that shivers sliced down her spine like knives.

A far-off wail rippled through the air behind her, and Padmé staggered around to see a red light pulsing at the back of the closet. Her first instinct told her to run, but _where?_ She was done running. She shoved her way past the rows and rows of capes, her heart palpitating at the uncertainty of what she might find.

But the wail thinned out into silence, and as Padmé edged closer to the back of the closet, she began to wonder if she might have imagined it. _Hallucinations. Great. Just what she needed._ Her own breaths sounded heavier in the sudden calm, and she realized that her inhales were sharper than normal. Padmé pushed past another cloak—and her breathing halted entirely. She could hardly manage anything but a strangled, "So- _Sola?"_

And yes, it _was_ her sister! The almond-shaped eyes, the cascade of dark hair, the fire that seemed to drive her whole being. But she was pale and flat, as though only able to inhabit the world in two-dimensional form. A single light flickered on and off above her, casting a reddish glow over a flawless sabacc face that Padmé could scarce remember her sister ever wearing. Sola had always been so expressive, so vivacious, so full of life, and she'd flung that joy about with a kind of careless generosity that had always made Padmé envious.

But that had all been before Pooja's death.

"So love has blinded you," Sola said, in a voice that didn't sound anything like Sola's. Another wail crashed through the silence, and Padmé shut her eyes and flinched away. When she looked back at Sola, she was still staring at Padmé, her expression stony. "Isn't that right?"

"What are you _saying?"_ The words bubbled off Padmé's tongue before she could help herself.

"You thought you could _change_ him, did you? _Save_ him? And how did that turn out?"

The voice wasn't Sola's, but it was still hauntingly familiar. "I would go back and change it all if I could," Padmé whispered, shaking slightly. She had never believed in ghosts, though Anakin had once told her he had seen an apparition of Qui-Gon Jinn on Mortis. Was this what this was? Could non-Force-sensitives manifest as ghosts after their deaths, too? "But—"

"You didn't _fight_ for us," Sola said, her voice cracking on the last word. She took a step toward Padmé right as Padmé took a step toward her. There was some sort of boundary between them, but Padmé lifted her right hand at the same time as Sola lifted her left, and their palms came as close to touching as they ever would again.

"I _did_ fight for you," Padmé insisted. She closed her eyes again and leaned her forehead against the barrier. It felt cool and smooth, like glass. "Anakin threatened to kill you all if I tried to resist his regime, and I thought…I thought I was protecting you by doing nothing. And by the time I realized I was wrong…it was too late." Padmé took a shuddering breath. "Sola, I know this doesn't change anything now, but…I'm so, so sorry."

A torturous silence hung in the air for a moment. "If you don't succeed on this mission," Sola reminded her sagely, "then you'll be responsible for more than just my death."

Padmé froze as the enormity of that statement overcame her. Suddenly the reason for her shaking hands and pounding heart made sense to her; they were a reflection of what her subconscious had known all along. "This is my last chance," she realized—quietly, almost _inaudibly,_ but surer than she'd been in a long time. She sprung away from her sister with a new sense of purpose, of determination, of _desperation,_ because this had to work, it _had_ to. "Sola, I won't let you down, I swear it," she said, but more to herself. "I'm going to—"

 _What was that?_ Padmé tensed, and then her heart rate jerked out of control as she heard a louder rustle, coming not from Sola but from the _other direction._ She screamed as something touched her shoulder, and this time, it most definitely was _not_ a cape or a coat; it had a _grip,_ and it was dragging her away from her sister. She tried to pry off the fingers that had latched onto her upper arm, throwing a pleading glance to Sola, but she was…gone. Tendrils of light had bled into the closet from outside, chasing away whatever had remained of her sister. As she struggled and writhed, Padmé's eyes flicked up to the blinking red light, and she realized that it was attached to something: a _security camera_. Her stomach had just begun to turn to lead as two men, dressed in identical uniforms, burst from the foliage of capes, hooking their arms around hers as they tried to yank her backwards. She gasped for breath and resisted, her feet scuffling clumsily against the floor as she attempted to break their grip, though she didn't know what she'd do even if she _did_ manage to free herself.

For an instant, as Padmé looked to where Sola had been standing, she thought she saw a flash of dark hair, the fire in her eyes. But why…why was there a man behind her? Darred? But he was alive, he couldn't be a ghost. Right? One of the guards threw his weight to the right, dragging Padmé along with him, and she realized from this angle that there were actually _two_ men behind Sola. Two men dressed in uniform, their arms locked around hers—

Padmé lost her footing and went limp, her heart a stone in her chest.

The security guards immediately seized advantage of her moment of weakness and hauled her backwards. A curtain of silk fluttered in to block her view, but it didn't matter. Sola had never been there at all. _Force,_ Padmé had been talking to her own reflection the entire time.

* * *

The full entourage of guards "accompanied" Ahsoka down the hallway and to the nearest turbolift, though only two of them followed her inside. As the doors slid shut, she eyed one of their blasters almost covetously. It hung from the hip of the bodyguard to her right, within her reach. But even if she managed to take out both of them, where would she go? There were cameras and Imperial troops everywhere, and she had no allies to help her escape. Best to just wait it out and see what Vader had planned. She'd survived this long, after all.

A chime sounded and the doors parted to reveal a familiar hallway, streaked with glaring light that poured through a row of arched windows. Ahsoka took a deep breath, held her head high, and strode forward. One of the guards immediately grabbed her upper arm. "I know my way to the throne room just fine," she snapped, wrenching herself free.

He took her by the shoulder and redirected her toward a windowless hallway, giving her a small shove forward when she froze in surprise. "You're not _going_ to the throne room, Your Highness."

The sneer in his voice—somewhat subtle, but obvious enough that she knew he wanted her to detect it—left a cold unease that ballooned in her stomach and rapidly diffused through the rest of her body. "O-kay," she muttered, swallowing her fear, because Jedi—no matter how exhausted or hungry or terrified they were—did not panic, and she would not give these cowards the satisfaction of seeing her do so because of a nervous instinct, of all things. "Show me to the emperor, then," she said, inserting as much authority into her voice as she could.

The other guard—the one to her left—literally _huffed_. He was shorter than the other man and wore his blond hair cropped close to his head—a style many of the guards apparently thought was intimidating—but it was the way he puffed his chest that told her how desperate he was to prove himself. _Good._ She could use insecurity to her advantage. Without warning, though, he removed a strip of black fabric from the inside of his jacket with the grandeur of a magician performing his most impressive act. By the time she'd realized what it was, he'd already yanked the blindfold over her eyes, and the guard with his hand on her shoulder dragged her further down the hallway, snatching her wrists behind her back when she tried to resist.

 _Force._ This was bad. She should've taken the gun.

She heard the creak of rusty hinges, the patter of footsteps, and then what she assumed was another door opening. A _slam_ echoed behind her, followed by the click of a lock. She swore under her breath and kicked at what she thought were her captor's legs, trying to catch him off balance. _Remove the blindfold. Get the gun. Blow the door._ It wasn't terrible for a hastily thought-out plan—certainly not her worst, but not her best, either.

His grip on her wrists did slacken as her foot—the heel of her stiletto, she was pretty sure—collided with his kneecap, and she managed to get one hand free so that she could whip off the blindfold. The world seemed to pulse with light after such a prolonged stretch of darkness, and she stumbled slightly in her attempt to steal the blaster from his belt. Before she could quite reach it, a crack of pain jolted through the wrist he was still holding, and Ahsoka hissed in agony. "Fine," she muttered under her breath. "I've been itching for a good fight, anyway."

Her eyes snapped upward, and a wave of panic chilled her veins. She delivered a frantic kick to the guard's chest and, while he was still winded, heaved herself out of the way of the stun bolt's trajectory—pulling him right into it. The bolt spiralled into his shoulder and erupted across his body in a crackle of blue. Ahsoka wasted no time in snatching the gun off of his crumpled form, shooting the other guard square in the chest and watching as his body collapsed next to an open trapdoor. A keychain slipped from his fingers with a _clink_. _Hmm. Interesting._ Ahsoka walked over and bent to scoop up the keys, then cast a calculating glance at the trapdoor. Where were they taking her that was so secretive, they had to blindfold her on the way there? What was it, exactly, that they didn't want her to know?

She rested the gun on her hip and looked over her shoulder at the exit, jostling the tarnished silver keys in her other hand. She _could_ blow the door now and leave, but what good would _that_ do her? It wasn't like she'd be able to escape the palace all on her own. She'd hardly been able to do it the first time, and that was _with_ help from Padmé, her handmaidens, and the Force. All she'd be doing was delaying the inevitable. Alternatively, she could descend through the trapdoor and see what the guards had been trying to hide from her, armed with a blaster…

Fine. She would play Vader's game. But she was going to play it by _her_ rules.

Ahsoka slipped the ring of the keychain around her wrist like a bracelet and aimed the gun forward with both hands, peering down into the space beneath the trapdoor. All she could see was a rickety spiral staircase that didn't look particularly stable, but she followed it anyway, wincing every time the steps creaked beneath her weight. By the time she made it to the bottom, she was so deep underground that she could no longer see the open trapdoor above her, and, consequently, had no light source. Squinting in an attempt to make out anything she could, Ahsoka noticed only what she thought might be a quilt or a tapestry, hanging on the opposite wall. She walked across the room, the _click-click-click_ of her stilettos richocheting eerily throughout the small chamber, and trailed her fingertips along the fabric.

To her surprise, the material wasn't as thick as she had expected, and her fingers didn't brush up against any thread. Not a quilt or a tapestry, then. It appeared to be just a simple piece of fabric—which meant that it was hiding something. Ahsoka swept the curtain to the side, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she caught sight of what it had been covering: a keyhole.

 _Bingo._

She tried each of the keys until one of them clicked into place, and Ahsoka turned it decisively to the right. The entire wall shuddered with a monstrous rumble, and she jumped away, leaving the keys dangling from their perch in the wall, as a slab of durasteel slid aside to reveal a tiny room lit by a single fluorescent light. Except that it wasn't exactly a _room_ …the threshold resembled an open window more closely than a door, and the space itself looked hardly big enough to fit even one average-sized humanoid adult. It wasn't until Ahsoka kicked off her heels, heaved herself inside, and peered at the ceiling that she saw the ropes. It was an elevator, and not even a turbolift—the old-fashioned kind. She thought of the spiral staircase that rocked beneath her weight and the tarnish on the silver keys. How old _was_ this place?

Old enough to have something to do with the Jedi and their Temple. That would explain why the guards had been so secretive about it. But why would Vader want to meet her here?

Ahsoka pulled the rest of her skirts into the elevator, arranged the blaster in her lap, and reached outside to remove the keys from their slot in the wall. She immediately yanked back her arm as the durasteel slammed into its former place, just barely avoiding the loss of a limb in the process. She had hardly caught her breath when the light flickered out ominously and the floor dropped from beneath her. Ahsoka almost screamed as her stomach swooped into a freefall and she couldn't get her lungs to take in air, but then she caught herself against a wall and realized that, wait, the floor _was_ still there. She was finally able to suck in a quick breath of relief. Apparently, older elevators didn't give nearly as smooth rides as turbolifts.

But would it have killed the architect to make it a bit bigger? Ahsoka was small, but she still had to sit back on her heels _and_ hold fistfulls of fabric to her chest in order for both herself and the ridiculous gown to fit. She couldn't imagine Vader or Obi-Wan trying to squeeze in here. It might have even been a tight fit for Padmé. And she still found it strange that the door had closed _instantly_ after she'd removed the keys. If her instincts hadn't been as quick as they were, her arm would have been sliced clean off. It was almost as if…almost as if it had been designed that way on _purpose_. Maybe the person who opened the elevator wasn't supposed to be the same person who got in. Maybe the person who opened the elevator never _would_ want to get in.

A trickle of sweat crept along Ahsoka's brow, and the cold uncertainty from before returned in a crash of terror. Had she walked right into a trap? Her muscles burned from maintaining this cramped position, and perspiration simmered across her skin, and it was beginning to occur to her just how tiny and _stifling_ this space was—almost like a _cage_. The elevator rattled and clanked as it surged deeper underground, and Ahsoka closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the wall, and screamed. She cursed Vader and Offee and Tarkin—everyone in the palace she could think of, really—but she knew, deep down, that the person she was angriest at was herself. She had had a chance to get away. How could she have let this _happen?_

The screech of the elevator's descent built to nearly a roar before it smashed to the ground, slamming Ahsoka up against the nearest wall. She scrambled for the gun as the door opened, half-expecting Vader to be awaiting her arrival on the other side, but to her surprise, the room appeared to be vacant. She gingerly lowered herself out of the elevator, shivering as her bare feet met the cold stone floor. Even without the Force, her instincts screamed of danger.

Jagged walls crawled upwards for what looked like hundreds of stories, their surfaces as rough and imperfect as that of a cliff or a cave, and Ahsoka caught herself wondering if maybe that's what this room once was. The rock sparkled with little flecks that caught flickers of torchlift, so she figured it must be marble or granite, or something in that family. It was almost beautiful— _almost_ —but the cavernous grandeur intimidated her, and the paltry light from the torches chased away hardly any of the shadows. Vader could be _anywhere,_ and she wouldn't even know it. Her skin crawled as she took a few more tentative steps forward, clutching the blaster as tightly as she could in her trembling hands.

At the end of the stone walkway was a monstrously large statue, cradling in its palms a pyramid-shaped object that throbbed with red light. Ahsoka reached the base of the statue, only to find that she was dwarfed by even its foot. As she remembered her theory that this room had something to do with the Jedi, her lips creased into a frown. She supposed the statue bore some resemblance to the ones in the cave on Ilum, but…something just didn't seem right. Or _feel_ right. She switched to holding the blaster in one hand and reached out the other—

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you."

She could _hear_ the cruel smile before she'd even whipped around, levelling the gun in the direction of his voice. The echo was still reverberating off the walls of the cave as Emperor Vader slunk out of the shadows, his eyes two floating, yellow orbs suspended against a backdrop of darkness. "It doesn't really like _your kind,_ Princess."

Ahsoka didn't waste time with words. She fired. Vader chuckled and threw up a hand, halting the blaster bolt in its path and sending it flying back to Ahsoka. She lunged out of the way just in time to avoid a hit to the shoulder, but a sliver of pain wormed through her hipbone as she hit the ground. Nonetheless, she once again lifted the gun, but he telekinetically wrenched it from her hands, examining it in mock interest for a moment before crushing it with the Force. "Imperial," he observed, a sneer twisting his lips, and flung the scrap metal to the ground. "I take it the guards I assigned you didn't give you enough of a challenge?"

Her heart dropped to her stomach. She'd been right. He'd _anticipated_ her taking out the guards and venturing down here on her own. "Emperor Vader." She spat the greeting as she stood and squared her shoulders, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "Long time, no see." Since their encounter in the therapy room, he'd even entrusted Grand Moff Tarkin with giving Ahsoka her "medication" every twelve hours—something Vader had _always_ insisted upon doing himself. "I was beginning to worry that you'd…forgotten about me."

Her choice of words was deliberate, and she thought she saw a flicker of resentment in his eyes at the reminder of his recent failure to wipe her memory. Maybe, if nothing else, that was something she could play against him. Thank the Force for small mercies. Vader had taken another stride toward her and had narrowed his eyes as though sizing her up. "If only I could, Princess. Sometimes I wonder if you've become more trouble than you're worth."

She took a startled step backwards before she could help it. Had he brought her down here to _kill_ her? They were far enough removed from witnesses' eyes that he could cover it up afterwards with one of his pretty little lies. But he still needed her as bait for Padmé, didn't he? And after all the trouble he'd taken to keep her alive…

Ahsoka countered her moment of weakness with a few decisive steps forward. "Can't tell you how many times I've thought the same thing about you."

The sneer on his lips faded into a pensive frown, and his eyebrows knit together. "You've caused me a lot of trouble recently, Ahsoka," he said in quiet disappointment, as if she'd betrayed him. He flicked his wrist in a summoning motion and she gasped as she was yanked telekinetically across the chamber, so quickly that her surroundings blurred around her. When the world finally stabilized, Vader had a hand clamped over her right shoulder. He snatched her left arm and dug a prosthetic thumb into the scar Tarkin's dagger had left behind, following it from her elbow all the way down to her wrist. Ahsoka sucked in air through gritted teeth. "Why have you been spreading such misinformation about the Empire?" he whispered, his eyes still fixated maniacally on the scar. "First on the balcony, and now with the textbook…"

"It's not misinformation," she said plainly, anger colouring her tone. "Everything in there was—"

He literally _hushed_ her, as if she were a child, and continued. "When Grand Moff Tarkin told me what you'd done, I told him he should have given you a matching scar on the right arm." He took his hand off her shoulder and grabbed her right wrist, too, and for a moment, she thought he might actually finish the job himself. But then, after a too-long moment of consideration, he dropped her arm and looked her in the eyes. "You haven't been sleeping, either, have you?"

Ahsoka's blood ran cold. "Who told you that?"

"Nobody." He smiled, almost genuinely, but somehow, it unsettled her more than his usual smirk. "You look like you're hardly able to keep your eyes open, Princess. And you're unsteadier than usual. Have you noticed how much you stumble whenever you walk?"

Ahsoka hadn't noticed.

"Besides," he added, almost as an insignificant afterthought, "I figured you wouldn't want to lose any more of your memories, would you?"

Ahsoka's jaw dropped, and though she managed to shut it immediately, he'd already latched onto her alarm like a shark that had smelled blood. "Don't think I don't know the rationale behind every one of your decisions," he told her, tightening his grip around her left wrist. "You might have managed to resist in the moment, but your memories will still fade into oblivion one by one. Much harder for you, really, to lose yourself so slowly."

Was this why Vader had let his façade of benevolence slip? Because he knew she'd forget everything eventually, anyway? And one day, when she finally woke up with the last of her memories gone, he'd be there to play the heroic older brother, stencilling in a new sense of identity to replace the one she'd lost, ostensibly to a past trauma— _just like before_. "Why don't you just tell me why I'm here already," she snarked.

His eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. She could tell by his smirk that he'd interpreted her comeback—or lack thereof—as a victory on his part. "Fine," he said loftily, releasing her left wrist and brushing past her. Ahsoka turned to see that he'd come to a stop in front of the statue, his hands clasped behind his back. "Prince Erosik's parents arrive tomorrow evening."

A tinge of anger flushed Ahsoka's cheeks. "You can't bribe or threaten me into doing anything for you," she bit out. "It's just like you said. I'm going to lose everything soon, anyway. Maybe you're right, and you _have_ won. But you know what that means? I have nothing left to fear from you. And if I'm going to go back to being one of your pawns—if that's inevitable—you can bet that I'm not going to feed into your lies and your deception while I can help it."

Vader flicked an unreadable glance over his shoulder. "It's not inevitable."

Ahsoka had already opened her mouth to retort, but now she froze, the forgotten comeback dying on her lips. _"What?"_ she breathed instead, the sound scarcely above a whisper.

He turned to face her directly, his expression still surprisingly aloof. "There are ways to halt continuous memory loss. But those with this ability are not capable of treating others—only themselves." He tilted his head, and the mischievous glint returned to his eyes. "I could teach you, Ahsoka. It'd be just like…old times. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"No," she said instantly, ignoring the twinge of hope in her chest. "There's a catch."

"I already told you the catch."

"You're the _emperor!"_ she yelled, her temper finally snapping. "Erosik's parents—Force, his entire _planet_ —could be dead with a snap of your fingers. What you're offering would hand me so much more power than you'd ever be comfortable giving anyone, let alone me. And for what? So that you can improve your image in the eyes of two people who mean nothing to you anymore? Their son is _dead_. It's not as if I'm going to end up their daughter-in-law at this point."

But after another moment of thought, the pieces of the puzzle finally slotted together in her mind, and she realized why he was so insistent that she act cordial toward Erosik's parents. Maybe, on the balcony, she had damaged the Empire's image more than he'd been willing to admit. Surely her claims that she'd been the one to kill Erosik, coupled with the accusations levied against the emperor, would have raised potent questions amongst the people. _Dangerous_ questions. But if Vader could show Ahsoka getting along with Erosik's parents, preferably in the form of a story plastered all over the HoloNet, any remaining skeptics would probably conclude that the whole incident had simply been due to an episode of hysteria. Vader was trying to gain credibility over Ahsoka in exchange for handing her the only thing he knew she wanted.

Even so…could it be worth it?

Immediately, she silenced the thought. If _he_ was the one telling her about this, it meant he'd already laid some sort of trap. Maybe he was lying, and there really _was_ no way to prevent any further memory loss. Even if there was, she doubted he would actually teach it to her. He'd force her to comply with _her_ part of the deal and then, after Erosik's parents and the holocamera crews had left the palace, he'd pretend their agreement had never existed.

Vader frowned, rolling his shoulders as if for a fight. "I didn't want to have to do this, Ahsoka," he said, and she found herself feeling at her hips for lightsabers that weren't there. "But if you insist on being stubborn, I suppose I could sweeten the deal."

He slipped a hand inside of his cream-coloured suit jacket. It was speckled with gleaming war medallions, and a red rose peeked out just beneath the collar. "I've already made up my mind," Ahsoka said, almost offended that he thought she'd be this easy to sway. But as he opened his palm and a hologram flickered into clarity above it, she nearly choked on her words.

"Friend of yours, I presume?" Vader said.

Ahsoka closed her eyes and inhaled quickly. The emperor didn't even wait for the inevitable question before answering. "He was captured by one of my Star Destroyers during the Battle of Ilum. He admitted under extensive interrogation that he'd been trying to create a diversion so that you could land on the planet unnoticed."

Ahsoka shivered. _Now_ she remembered. One of the starfighters had veered out of formation to distract the Star Destroyer; it was the only reason she had been able to get past the blockade. She'd thought that it might have been Padmé, but it wasn't. It was _Lux_.

"Naturally, I should have him executed like the traitor he is," Vader continued, comfortably folding one arm behind his back. "Talking you into conspiring with him, bringing you the neutralizing serum and the dagger—oh, don't look so surprised, Princess, I know all about your little exchanges." The corners of his lips tugged upwards into a grin. "Now that I have him in my custody, of course, it'd be easy to put an end to his pathetic little life…but I might be willing to negotiate if you would grant me this one small favour, Ahsoka. He's not worth much to me, anyway. But"—his eyes gleamed dangerously as he peered at her through the hologram, shafts of blue light shifting over his face—"I know he is to you."

Ahsoka forced herself to examine the hologram, but her stomach turned so violently, she almost had to rip away her gaze. His arms and face were covered in bruises, and a scar ran from his right ear down to his jawbone. His tattered clothes hung loosely from his frame, so thin now from hunger that it looked nearly skeletal, and silhouetted by the cement walls of a dungeon cell, he seemed…ghostly. But she recognized the empty desperation and pent-up anger burning in his eyes, recognized it because it was _her own,_ and as she lowered her head she imagined the weight of his hand against her hip, the feel of his hair in between her fingers, those chills of excitement that had tickled her spine as they'd kissed…but then…but then she thought of all she'd sacrificed to bring down Vader's regime, and what it would really mean if she chose to save Lux. To comply with Vader's wishes would be to bolster the image of the Empire, to quietly discourage any act of rebellion that _might_ have sprung up in her name, to quell any doubt she'd managed to instill amongst the people…and all for _one_ individual?

"You know I can't do that," she said at last.

"Why not?"

"I can't make deals with you."

His lips pursed into a line. "Well, then, that's entirely your decision. I only thought…you wouldn't want any additional blood on your hands, would you? After the whole incident with that handmaiden of yours…what was she called?"

"Lahnya," Ahsoka whispered numbly. The name tasted like metal on her tongue.

"'Jedi don't run'," Vader quoted. "Isn't that what you told her?" When Ahsoka sucked in a rapid breath—a telltale sign that he'd caught her off guard—he just smiled. "A rather interesting memory of yours, from your eighteenth birthday. It seems your _Lahnya Adira_ was involved in more than just erasing holofeeds from the archive memory. I suppose, during her interrogation, it must have slipped her mind to mention that she'd participated in an attempt on my life."

Ahsoka's throat felt like sandpaper. How could she have been so stupid? Of course he knew all of this. He had been in her _mind_. "You—you interrogated her?" she finally choked out.

"Oh. Oh, yes. I did."

 _He had been in her mind._ Ahsoka mulled this over, trying not to think too hard about what else he might know about her. What else he might know about the _Rebellion_. And yet… _she_ had been in _his_ mind, too. Try as he might to avoid the topic, she knew that was the reason he hadn't simply made another attempt to erase her memory. Because he, the mighty Emperor Vader, the man who held the very fate of the galaxy in his own two hands, was _afraid_. Hopelessly, desperately afraid. And he was afraid of _her_ —afraid of what she might learn about _him_.

She thought of the vulernable little boy in the raggedy clothes, of the woman who had _apparently_ been an empress but nonetheless wore her pain etched across her face. And then she remembered the vision she had had on Ilum, of Anakin begging Obi-Wan not to discuss his past. "What are you _running_ from?" she breathed, without even having intended to say it aloud, but something in her words froze him in his tracks, and before he could snuff it out, she _saw_ it.

A flicker of terror. It laced wildly through his eyes, disappearing so soon afterwards that she would have missed it had she blinked. But it was undeniable. It had _been there_.

And she could use that.

"This is why I won't help you," she said more forcefully, her own courage bolstered by his moment of weakness. "I don't help cowards. I don't help people who hide from their demons instead of facing them. Look, I don't know what happened to you in the past—I don't even know what happened to _myself_ —but nothing's what you said it was. It's easier for you to pretend you've always been royalty, isn't it? It's easier to rewrite the history books so they reflect life as you would have wanted it, so you can forget whatever it is you're refusing to remember." Ahsoka was so livid that she couldn't quell the ferocity of her trembling. Here he was, throwing away precious memories like they were worth _nothing,_ when she had literally travelled to the edges of the galaxy in hopes of scraping together the broken pieces of who she'd once been. And _he_ —he was the one who had shattered her identity in the first place, for his own selfish reasons. _"Listen,"_ she seethed. "I'm not going to play the part you've carved out for me, because that's not who I am and it's time you realize that this story isn't _yours_ alone to shape."

He glanced down at the hologram in his palm. "Then I hope you enjoy the next few weeks, Princess. Because as soon as _you're_ eliminated,"—by this he meant her memories, as was made clear by his sly grin—"there would be absolutely _nothing_ stopping me from sculpting history _exactly_ as I want it." He met her gaze again. A flood of vengeance had seeped into his eyes, erasing any traces of fear. "Including _your_ history. Your past— _and_ your future."

"No. Padmé." The name sprung to Ahsoka's lips, almost as an unconscious default. "Even if—even if _I_ lose myself, she won't. _She'll_ stop you."

He rolled his eyes, the gesture surprisingly informal, and Ahsoka found herself enraged on Padmé's behalf. She was a general, not to mention a former senator and queen, and an inspiration to Ahsoka and countless others. Padmé could carry the weight of an entire revolution on her shoulders as though it were nothing at all. How could Vader be arrogant enough to brush her off this easily? "Don't make me laugh, Your Highness," he spat. "I'm sure you've realized by now that you and my children are bait. When Empress Amidala arrives to steal what's mine, I'll have an entire legion of guards ready to subdue her. She won't be in any position to challenge me, and without her leadership, neither will the Rebellion."

 _Mine._ Despite the rest of his threats, it was that one syllable that lodged itself in Ahsoka's mind, echoing over and over again. A shiver drifted along her spine. "I'm not—I'm not _yours,"_ she said, hating herself for tripping over the words. _And neither are Luke and Leia,_ she thought, but for some reason, she couldn't produce the sentence aloud.

Vader's eyebrows crawled up to his hairline. "Well, you don't _have_ to be," he said. "But you've already made it quite clear that you have no interest in preserving your memories—"

"I never said that. I said I had no interest in helping _you."_

"Don't be foolish, Your Highness. You'd be doing that either way."

Ahsoka froze. Despite the gaping enormity of the chamber, she was haunted by the keen sense that the walls were shoving in on her, that her lungs were squeezing out every last breath of air. "I don't believe you." She had to force out the words to make them sound sincere.

Vader barked a laugh. "Believe it. You'd be helping me either way, but at least one of your options gives you _some_ hope. And I'm handing it to you on a silver platter, Princess."

She flicked a wary glance at the hologram, still suspended above his open palm. "That holo probably isn't even real. For all I know, it's doctored and you're lying to me."

"Well, then, I'm sure Kenobi would serve as a fine substitute for Bonteri. You know for a fact that I have _him_ in custody. And after Adira, the public's hungry for another execution." He chuckled darkly as his eyes glazed over, as though he were already envisioning the spectacle. "You might not believe me, Your Highness, but you have my word that I'm telling the truth. And if nothing else, I _am_ a man of my word. Maybe, if you're particularly well-behaved tomorrow evening, I'll even grant you and Bonteri a face-to-face meeting." He shrugged, swiping his thumb along the side of the holodisk, and Lux's image faded away. Despite herself, Ahsoka was almost relieved that she no longer had to bear witness to his excrutiating circumstances. "Then again, it's not as if you have to decide right this moment. You have until tomorrow evening, after all. So why don't you take some time to think it over, Princess. I'm sure you'll come to the right conclusion."

A flash of silver caught in her vision, and Ahsoka, not having anticipated Vader tossing it to her, just barely managed to swipe the holodisk out of thin air. It felt strangely heavy in her cupped palms, but before she could ponder it further, the emperor glided up behind her and took her by the back of her neck. She tensed instantly. "We should return to the palace before our absence becomes too conspicuous," he said, as if they were on the same side or something.

"You still haven't explained why you had to drag me all the way down here."

"If you abide by my rules tomorrow evening, I assure you, your curiosity will be satisfied."

He hauled her in the direction of the elevator, and for once, Ahsoka fell silent, blinking down at the holodisk in her palms. She simply didn't have anything else to say. What _could_ she say? This was so obviously a trap, and yet…didn't it represent some sort of chance, as slim and impossible as it was? Maybe, if she could find a way to halt her memory loss—even for just a little while—she could buy herself more time. _More time._ That was all she needed.

When they arrived next to the elevator, its threshold still gaping wide open, Vader ignored it. Instead, he pressed his free palm against a section of wall that curved outward. It grumbled as it rotated 180 degrees, revealing a more modern marble staircase that stretched upwards out of view. Vader gave her a shove forward and said, in faux courtesy, "After you, Your Highness."

Ahsoka creased her brow at the staircase as though she had never seen one before, clasping the already-sweaty holodisk between her palms. "This…this doesn't make any sense," she said at last. "How am I supposed to know that I can even _trust_ you?"

He chuckled. She didn't need to turn around to imagine the gleam of mirth in his eyes. "Well, that's just the thing," he crooned, malice dripping from his voice like venom. "You don't."

* * *

 **PrincessNaina: Thank you, I'm glad you liked it! Hope you enjoyed this update, too.**

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 **NarniaTolkienNerd: Thank you very much! I'm glad you found it interesting. Again, I'm sorry for the slow update. :/ I do try to stick to canon as much as possible, though because this is an AU, I sometimes do have to diverge, especially towards the end of _Revenge of the Sith_. I'm glad to hear that you think I'm able to remain true to the canon, though, at least for the most part. Again, thank you so much for your kind words! :)**

 **And thank you to everyone for all of your favourites, follows, and reviews, it really means a lot to me.**

 **-Isabelle**


	25. Chapter 25

For the first time since she had been brought back into Vader's custody, Ahsoka found herself alone in the palace. Of course, she wasn't naïve enough to assume that there wasn't a guard trailing her or watching her through a holocamera, but there was something about the _impression_ of solitude that simultaneously calmed and jarred her.

Vader had blindfolded her on the way up the staircase, but he'd let her go as soon as they had reached a familiar hallway, mumbling something about _court convening in ten minutes_ as he'd run off. He hadn't even said a word about their private encounter. Not that he needed to—their conversation was already on replay in Ahsoka's mind as she tried to figure out what to do.

What in the galaxy was she going to _do?_

She staggered back to her chambers as if stumbling through a dream. How was it possible that even though her body took more energy to drag forward than usual, she felt almost as though she were floating, bobbing up and down in midair? Her weight slumped against the threshold as she came to a stop in her doorway, and she didn't make any attempt to stop it. Instead, her flickering gaze roved over everything as though she were seeing it for the first time, her foot took a tentative step forward, and she hardly heard the gasped _"Princess!"_ as the world smeared into a whirlwind of colours and the floor shot up to catch her and—

The next thing she knew, she was ripping open her eyes and bolting into a sitting position, shoving silk blankets off of her nightgown-clad form. Somebody had gone to the trouble of preparing her for bed, even though afternoon sunlight still trickled through the arched windows. Ahsoka scanned the room warily, seeking out someone who could explain this oddity to her, but not a single handmaiden nor bodyguard was in sight.

A chill brushed up against her spine. She'd never been left unaccompanied in her chambers, not since she had been recaptured. Maybe once the guards checked the security feeds, they'd notice that she was awake and come marching right back in. _Maybe._ But—

"Oh, no," she breathed, before she could even finish her thought. _Awake._ The realization of what had happened—what she'd _let_ happen—flooded back to her in a heartbeat. After days of faithfully grasping onto consciousness, she'd finally succumbed to the exhaustion. She hadn't meant to, either, she'd just—she'd just— _collapsed_.

Ahsoka drew her legs up to her chest and rested her forehead against her knees, taking stock of her memories. She remembered escaping from the palace with Padmé, travelling to Naboo on Atki's ship, witnessing Sola's horrific death—and then—and then nothing. _No._ That couldn't be right. That was hardly _anything_. Ahsoka tore through her mind for scraps of another memory, but she couldn't produce anything from before she'd woken up in the palace spa. She knew that was the moment she'd learned of her recapture. Maybe she'd been taken into custody right after Naboo, and she really wasn't missing so many memories after all? But she'd mentioned someplace called Ilum on the balcony…and she couldn't remember what this "Ilum" _was_.

She choked back a half-sob. She had even less time than she'd thought.

 _More time._ Vader's promise from earlier came back to her, but she dismissed it with a quick shake of her head. No. She'd already told him no. To go back on that statement now would make her look weak. It just…it just wasn't an option. _It was not._

She pulled herself out of bed and slipped open the door to her closet, then immediately shut it again. A nightgown wasn't ideal, but it was easily more comfortable than a corset. Sighing, Ahsoka slumped into the chair poised in front of her vanity, tracing a finger idly along the edge. Even after having slept for the first time in days, her mind was still too hazy to construct a solid plan. She had no clue what she was supposed to make of all of this. Her fingertip brushed up against a piece of glass, and she glanced over at the necklace Vader had shoved into her palm the day she had been recaptured. A beam of light flashed off of the Imperial insignia, quick as a taunting wink. Nestled against the golden chain was a holodisk—

Ahsoka sucked in an unexpected breath.

 _Lux._ The sight of the holodisk stirred up an indescribable sensation within her, but she couldn't explain why. Its touch was so fragile that she was sure it must be another ghost of her past. She dropped her head into her hands, wracking her brain for the lost memory associated with him. How could she come to a decision before filling this aching, undoubtedly crucial gap? And why was that sensation _again_ brushing up against her ribcage, with the delicacy of butterfly wings and the brutality of a dagger's caress? Maybe _this_ explained the guards' absence; Vader wouldn't have let anything distract Ahsoka from torturing herself over this decision.

She opened her right eye, peeking at the holodisk through the gaps between her fingers. Then she bit her lip and stretched a quivering hand toward it—

—Right as the doors to her suite burst open, a hurricane of voices crashing through.

About a dozen handmaidens, both Togrutan and human, bustled into her chambers excitedly, hauling along with them a clothing rack and a portable mahogany chest. Ahsoka sprung to her feet and planted both hands on her hips. "What—what is going on?"

The handmaiden closest to Ahsoka—a woman in her mid-twenties who looked a bit like a blonde version of Padmé—snatched a hangar off the rack and, in one fluid motion, zipped open the garment bag to reveal its contents. Golden layers of satin and silk cascaded delicately to the floor, and a gauzy overskirt, studded with sapphires and pearls, shone rosily in the afternoon glow. The bodice, strapless and high-waisted, was adorned with so many diamonds and sapphires that Ahsoka almost shielded her eyes reflexively. "This was all _my_ design," the blonde announced proudly. She either hadn't noticed or had chosen to ignore Ahsoka's shocked air.

A few of the other girls sighed, as if they'd all heard this before— _multiple_ times. "Give it a rest, Eirtaé," one of them mumbled, but the blonde continued anyways.

"It was originally intended for Empress Amidala—it cost over two million credits, after all—but Emperor Vader _himself_ went through some of our unused designs. And when he discovered _mine,_ he decided it would be perfect for you to wear tonight."

"I don't understand," Ahsoka said numbly, trying not to vomit up her lungs. Two million credits, wasted on a _dress?_ When people thousands of levels below the palace were starving?

"You haven't made a public appearance in weeks, Your Highness. Your brother wants to ensure that when Prince Erosik's parents arrive, you'll be at your—"

"That's _tomorrow."_ Ahsoka crossed her arms and ran her gaze over the gown. It might have been the most extravagant and impractical article of clothing Vader had ever made her wear, though she doubted she'd look even half as graceful in it as Padmé would have.

"Princess…" When Ahsoka looked back up at the handmaidens, a Togrutan girl next to Eirtaé was chewing on her lip. "I didn't realize you wouldn't know…I mean…you were so exhausted…" She fiddled with her fingers and added, "We called the royal doctor, but he told us you were fine, you just needed some rest." She cracked a hesitant smile, as if about to make a joke that she wasn't sure Ahsoka would find amusing. "Over twenty-four hours of it, as it turns out."

Ahsoka's heart jolted, and a sweep of shock widened her eyes and parted her lips into an _O_. Her chin dropped to her chest, and she stared blankly down at the prisms of sunlight that speckled the hardwood floor, worrying the hem of her nightgown. "You're saying…," she started, trying to quell the wobble in her voice. _She'd slept through all of yesterday. She was already running out of time!_ Shaking her head as if to ward off the thoughts, she swallowed hard and forced the words out. "You mean…Erosik's parents are arriving _today?"_

* * *

Padmé blinked open her eyes as she heard the door to her prison cell slide open. She was lying drowsily on her left side, trying to make herself comfortable on this durasteel platform the warden had called a bed. This was how she'd preoccupied herself in the eons since the previous night—shifting from right to left, pacing feverishly and then lying back down, drifting in and out of sleep but waking up no more rested than she had been before. It wasn't as if this were her first arrest—she'd been sentenced to death on Geonosis, and Anakin had had to bail her out once on Scipio—but this time, it was different. She couldn't afford a delay like this. She should have been on Hosnian Prime by now, if not on Coruscant.

Groggily, she dragged her head off of her forearm, which had served loyally for the past hour or so as a makeshift pillow. She shook out the pins and needles and looked up at the door. She was expecting the warden or maybe a prison guard, so she almost performed a double take when a familiar, smiling face crossed the threshold.

"You're the talk of the town," Kaeden announced amiably. "It's been awhile since someone on Raada's done anything even _remotely_ exciting enough to get herself arrested."

"Kaeden!" Padmé leapt to her feet and flung herself into the younger girl's arms. Kaeden seemed surprised for a moment but soon returned the embrace. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you the same thing." Kaeden pulled back and took Padmé's hands, tugging her toward the open door. "You're free to go. I bailed you out."

"You—I— _what?"_

"I bailed you out. I'm good at that, really—getting people to leave you alone." Kaeden tilted her head to the side. "Though I could've sworn you said you'd come to Raada to lie low."

Padmé detected the hint of suspicion in her tone, but she brushed it off with a forced laugh. "Yeah, right. Haven't done a very good job of that, have I?"

"No," Kaeden agreed, crossing her arms. "Is that something Senator Amidala taught you?"

Padmé stiffened before remembering that Kaeden thought she was Teckla. "Ah," she recovered, allowing a smirk to cross her lips, "you have _no_ idea."

They exited the cell side by side, and Padmé soon realized that Kaeden had more influence than she'd let on. Even the warden, watching as they left the prison, tipped his head in her direction, fluorescent light glinting off of his bald head. Kaeden smiled in return, but she waited until they were out of his earshot to whisper, "He was a friend of my mother."

Padmé hesitated for a moment, debating between diplomacy and curiosity. "'Was'?"

Kaeden nodded as they stepped outside, the highlights in her dark brown hair shining in the sun. "Selda may have lost his arm and lekku in that accident, but my parents lost their lives."

Padmé sucked in a horrified breath. She knew how it felt to lose family. "Kaeden, I'm so sorry…"

The younger girl brushed off Padmé's condolences with a shake of her head. "Don't apologize," she murmured. "I'm lucky. I still have the memories, and I still have Miara."

 _I still have the memories._ Kaeden couldn't have known that those words would send a shiver down Padmé's spine. She and Kaeden, as horrendous as both of their circumstances were, could at least look back upon better times. Ahsoka, on the other hand….

 _Ahsoka. Leia. Luke._

Cietra's former home was coming into view, but Padmé was once again tense with the memory of her failed rescue mission. Kaeden seemed to notice, for she paused Padmé's trek forward with a gentle hand to her shoulder. "Hey. Are you all right?"

"Of course." Padmé raked her fingers through her hair, forcing it out of her eyes.

"You must already be growing bored of Raada, I take it?" Kaeden teased, but something in her tone twisted Padmé's stomach. "You broke onto an aristocrat's ship without even your friend Gregar by your side." _Bail._ Padmé hadn't wanted to strand him on Raada, but she'd known he wouldn't agree with her methods. Besides, they couldn't have both escaped the moon without anyone noticing them. Padmé hadn't even managed it on her own.

Before Kaeden could vocalize the unspoken question— _Why?_ —Padmé opened the door to Cietra's former home and slipped inside. She didn't expect Kaeden to catch the door before she could close it, following Padmé past the threshold. To her surprise, however, about half a minute passed before the younger girl spoke again. "Is there anything else I can do?"

Padmé shook her head, relieved that the suspicion seemed to have fled Kaeden's eyes. "You've done enough already. In fact, you have no idea how much this meant to me. Thank you."

Kaeden's lips turned up into a smile. "Of course. I'm always happy to help a friend." She made for the door, paused, and flicked her gaze casually over her shoulder, as if to contribute an afterthought. "But I have more of an idea than you might think, _Empress_ Amidala."

* * *

She wasn't ready yet—she hadn't even come close to making her decision—but that didn't seem to matter to any of the handmaidens. As the afternoon sunlight waned into darkness, they painted her lips and eyelids, polished her nails, draped petticoats from her hips and diamonds from her neck, laced the corset so tightly that she felt woozy for twenty minutes afterwards. She just watched her reflection in the three-panelled mirror, watched it become something that was not her, as rippling rivulets of daylight seeped away, soaked up by the night.

"Arms up," Eirtaé instructed, and Ahsoka obeyed, letting her fasten the bodice of the gown. When asked to slip on a pair of golden stilettos, the luxurious glimmer of its diamond-studded heels and sapphire-adorned toes all too conspicuous, she did that, too. ("Wow," Eirtaé breathed appreciatively. "It was expensive, but I _told_ you all that Sylviana Chère was the right designer for the job. By tomorrow morning, everyone who's anyone on Coruscant will be lobbying her for their own pair!") Even when a brunette pulled a satin jewellry case from the mahogany trunk and lifted the lid in a grandiose fashion, Ahsoka lowered her head and allowed her to slip the tiara around her montrals. Though it was delicate to the eye, reminiscent of a snowflake and embellished with diamond teardrops, she already felt the strain in her neck as she pulled her head upright, battling against the tiara's weight.

Memory was a crumbling cliff that she was scrambling to hold onto, begging for a nonexistent ally to help pull her to safety. But it was at that moment, as the resurrected Imperial princess returned her vacant stare from three different angles, that Ahsoka felt herself plummet.

 _Time. She needed more time._

Any last traces of sunlight had thinned into nonexistence, and the chandeliers' glow pulsed eerily against ceiling-high windows swolen with darkness. Ahsoka broke away from her reflection and caught herself against one of her bedposts, shoulders shuddering as she tried to breathe as deeply as she could in the corset. "Princess, what happened?" An unfamiliar hand settled against her forearm. "Is something wrong? Do you not like the outfit?"

"I can't…" Ahsoka swallowed the sobs that had been building in her throat all afternoon. What would she be like once she and that reflection became one in the same? _Hollow. Obedient. Broken._ Her palms became slick with sweat as she tightened her grip on the bedpost. She couldn't let that happen, and yet the seconds were flying by, and her options were trickling away, and she _needed more time_. But could she trust him? If she did what he asked of her, if she appeased him just this once, would he meet his end of the bargain? "I can't _do_ this!"

"Shh…Your Highness, calm down. You…you miss him, don't you? Your fiancé?" Ahsoka just shook her head, unable to produce words that matched the magnitude of her anger. She wanted, in that moment, to scream, to cry, to throw something—wanted them to _see_ her, wanted them to see her hurting. And she hoped it made them guilty or uncomfortable—better yet, she hoped it made _them_ hurt, too. But instead, she just stood there, her forehead against the bedpost, tears burning behind closed eyelids, as the girl said, "I'm so sorry." She at least had the decency to sound genuinely saddened. "This whole event…the ball for his parents, and _everything_ …it must bring back terrible memories."

 _If only it would._ Ahsoka squeezed her fist tighter around the bedpost, wishing it would snap.

"But really, _try_ not to cry," the handmaiden continued, neatly dispensing of any empathy. "It would just ruin your makeup, and then we'd have to start all over again."

* * *

Padmé opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, grappling with unfamiliar speechlessness until she managed, "You know?"

"Of course I know!" Kaeden threw her hands into the air, but to Padmé's relief, a hint of amusement twinkled in her eyes. "I knew the day you arrived on Raada."

"You did?" Force, Padmé felt so _stupid_.

Kaeden giggled, covering her mouth with one hand. "Yes," she said. "You told me you'd gone MIA during the Clone Wars, which meant that you wouldn't know about the Empire. But at Selda's, when Miara told me they'd found the princess, the first thing you asked was—"

"—If she meant the _Imperial_ princess," Padmé finished for her, realizing her mistake.

Kaeden nodded, crossing her arms. "And then there was your _reaction_ to the news. Your friend Gregar—assuming that's even his name—told everyone at Selda's that you were drunk, but I'd accompanied you there and I knew you'd been sober only a minute ago. Besides," she added, "you didn't fool me with that concussion nonsense. Most of Selda's patrons believed you when you explained the sunglasses, but I'd seen you often enough without them to know that you didn't really need them. We were just out in the sun, and you didn't even flinch."

Padmé suppressed a gasp at all of her uncovered tracks. Kaeden had been the one to lend her the sunglasses in the first place, after Padmé had explained that she thought she might have a concussion from the crash. Apparently, her attempt at hiding her identity had only made her more conspicuous. "Do you think anyone else recognized me?"

"I wouldn't be too worried. Kaeden knows the royal family better than everyone else on Raada _combined."_ The voice travelled from the threshold, and both Padmé and Kaeden whipped around to see a cloud of curls and a youthful, grinning face.

"Miara!" Kaeden scolded, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. Her younger sister took this as an invitation to smirk insufferably, dropping into a nearby chair. "How did you get in here?"

 _"_ _I_ built the lock on the door," Miara reminded her, with the haughtiness of a fourteen-year-old desperate to prove herself. She was _exactly_ as Ahsoka had been at that age, Padmé thought. "Besides, it wasn't too difficult. All I had to do was follow you here."

Kaeden sighed and pressed a hand to her temple, right as Padmé, still stunned at having been discovered, processed the meaning of Miara's presence. "She knows," she murmured.

Kaeden shot her a quick glance. "She's the only one," she promised. "I didn't tell anyone else, not even Selda, though I think he has his own suspicions. But Miara…she's my _sister."_

Padmé swallowed hard and nodded, remembering Sola. That, too, she understood all too well. "It's okay," she said. "As long as you can keep it between the two of you."

Kaeden opened her mouth to respond, but Miara beat her to it. "Of course!" she trilled, swinging her legs back and forth as she examined Padmé. "It's strange, you know, to see you without the gowns and the jewellry. Not at _all_ like in Kaeden's holozines—"

Kaeden gasped, her cheeks already reddening, and Padmé turned to her in shock. She seemed far too intelligent to enjoy mindless gossip. "Miara!" Kaeden rebuked her sister, and this time, she certainly meant it. But judging by the grin on Miara's face, she didn't plan on stopping.

"What, Kaeden hasn't asked you yet to introduce her to the Princess Ahsoka?"

Kaeden looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole, but she still managed a sharp, "You've had far more celebrity crushes than I have, Miara!"

"Oh, yeah? Name _one."_

"Hadero Fibi."

Miara frowned. "Three," she amended, and then, "Five."

Padmé watched the Larte sisters wistfully, caught between their world and her own. In her mind, she was twelve again, shrieking indignantly as Sola succeeded in coaxing Palo's name from her lips. _"Padmé has a cruuuush!"_ she'd screamed down the hallway of their childhood home, even as her younger sister had tackled her in an attempt to shut her up.

"Are you okay?" Kaeden's voice jolted her back to reality.

Padmé closed her eyes, inhaling shakily. "Yes…I'm sorry…I had a sister once, too."

Silence blanketed them as Kaeden and Miara processed her words. When Padmé blinked open her eyes, she saw that Kaeden was already nodding to herself, as if piecing together scraps of information. Sola's murder had probably been reported on the HoloNet, and Padmé could guess who had been blamed. _The 'invaders'._ "I'm so sorry, Empress—"

"Padmé," she corrected before Kaeden could finish. "And I thought we agreed on no apologies."

Kaeden dipped her head into a solemn nod, but Miara just frowned. "What about your sister-in-law?" she asked soberly. "The princess? You still have her, don't you?"

"I do…," Padmé started, sighing at the memory of her failure. "Well…I'm trying to get her back."

"That's why," Kaeden deduced. It wasn't a question. "That's why you're trying to get off Raada."

Padmé nodded.

"And you weren't really abducted." The words escaped Miara's lips in an awed, almost terrified whisper. She saw now the danger that Padmé had brought to Raada.

"No," Padmé admitted. "We weren't. We ran."

And then she divulged as much as she could, omitting the more treacherous details in hopes of protecting the Larte sisters. They both knew about Ahsoka's arranged marriage from Kaeden's holozines, and they were accordingly unsurprised to learn that it had been the catalyst for Ahsoka and Padmé's escape. She then went on to explain that the Emperor Vader—not quite as benevolent in person as in the public eye—had hunted them across the galaxy ever since, and had finally caught up to Ahsoka a couple of weeks ago. "Is it true what she said in the broadcast?" Kaeden asked in a murmur. "That she used to be a Jedi?"

"No." Padmé shook her head. "She still _is_ a Jedi."

The sisters' wide eyes gazed back at her, and she meant to continue before the door flung open, accompanied by the shriek of rusty hinges. Bail Organa hovered in the threshold, and it took Padmé a moment too long to notice the fire in his eyes. "Pa— _Teckla!"_

"It's okay, Bail." His lips parted at her use of his real name, as if to correct her, but she shook her head as she gestured to Kaeden and Miara. "They already know."

He looked as though he were about to protest before sweeping an anxious hand through his hair. "Fine," he mumbled. Anger spilled across his features now, twisting his lips and sparking in his eyes, and it seemed so foreign, so unlike Bail, that Padmé was almost afraid. "We'll talk about that later. By the way, I hope you know I didn't appreciate you _stranding_ me here—"

"You don't understand, Bail!" she pleaded. "I was going to come back for you, I was—"

"He has _my_ daughter, too, Padmé." His voice simmered with quiet intensity, and somehow, inexplicably, Padmé fell silent. It took a mighty opponent to beat her in a duel of words, but Bail, with a single sentence, had succeeded. As if realizing the extent of what he had done, the tension bled out of his shoulders, and he brought the heel of his hand to his forehead. "Padmé, I'm sorry…this wasn't even what I needed to tell you."

"Then what?" she whispered after a long pause, feeling her heart rate pick up again.

Bail glanced at Kaeden and Miara. "You two should head home," he said. "They'll start taking a head count soon, and it'd probably be safer if they didn't find you with Padmé and me."

"'They'?" Padmé grabbed Bail by the shoulder, spinning him around so that he had to look at her. "Bail, who are 'they'? What are you talking about?"

He closed his eyes and inhaled, as if preparing himself for a marathon. "Padmé," he said. The abrupt coldness of his voice made her stomach drop. "The Imperials—they're here."

* * *

The handmaidens left, Ahsoka pulled herself together, and by then another six minutes had already ticked away. By the time he arrived to escort her downstairs, she was sitting on the edge of a window seat, tracing an idle finger along the pane. His reflection, warped narrower and fainter by the glass, swam up behind hers. Through the window, it looked as if his face were suspended above the Coruscant skyline, advancing toward her from the outside.

She didn't turn to look at him as the cushion sank beneath his weight, didn't even react to the sting of the rubbing alcohol or the bite of the needle. Thirty seconds later, as he slid it out of her upper arm and clicked it back into its case, she heard, "I need to know your decision."

 _"_ _I_ need to know I can trust you."

The air gained a sudden weight it hadn't possessed before, and Ahsoka didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until her chest grew tight. "Well, there _is_ one way you could be certain I would keep my promise," he said, almost contemplatively. "I didn't mention it before because I didn't think you would be comfortable with the idea, but…"

A blue crackle of light glinted suddenly off of the glass, and she turned to face the emperor. Above his left palm, sparks of lightning flickered and snaked around each other in the shape of an orb. Countless warnings of Obi-Wan's hit her like a punch in the gut, and Ahsoka leapt to her feet with a strangled yell of surprise. "That's—that's Sith magic!" she hissed.

He tilted his head to the side but didn't deny her accusation. "We're going to make a pledge, Ahsoka. That way, neither one of us will be able to back down on our word."

Ahsoka hugged herself and took another step backwards. "Or what?"

"Hmm?"

"If you don't carry out your end of the bargain. What happens to you?"

"I'd suffer the consequences, of course."

 _"_ _What_ consequences?"

"Whatever you had decided would be an appropriate punishment." He shrugged one shoulder and inclined his head toward the empty space beside him. "Come, Ahsoka. Sit."

"And if I broke _my_ pledge? What would happen to me?"

"That shouldn't matter if you're planning on carrying through, should it?" His eyes cut to her, flashing with impatience. "Now come here and sit down, or I'll revoke my offer."

Part of her suspected that it was an empty threat, but her legs carried her toward the window seat anyway, trembling even as she perched on the edge of the cushion. _All you have to do is cooperate with him while Erosik's parents are here._ _A few days in exchange for the rest of your life. More time, Ahsoka, more time!_ He took her hands and clasped them tightly between his own. The orb of lightning grew to engulf everything from her fingertips to her wrists, crackling hungrily as it scorched her skin. _Once you know how to halt memory loss, he'll never be able to control you again._ "I'll go first," Vader offered silkily, and Ahsoka nodded, even if she didn't know whether the response was to him or to her own thoughts. _What do you even have to lose, Ahsoka? If this fails, how much worse off could you really be than before?_

She closed her eyes and inhaled, settling her decision with a final, more vehement nod, as the lightning crackled and hissed over the sound of the emperor's pledge.

* * *

Padmé sprinted, her hair flying out behind her, as she watched Raada's spaceport out of the corner of her eye. From the hills, she could see the shadow of a Star Destroyer and the silhouettes of Imperial soldiers. Maybe they were here for her, and maybe they weren't, but the worst part was that it didn't even matter. Raada's residents may not have been overly invested in Core royalty, but the Imperials certainly were. If they came across her or Bail during their head count, either one of them would be recognized in a heartbeat.

She kept running.

The spaceport finally waned out of view as she reached a set of caves, concealed by the waving grasses of the hills. She brushed past some of the foliage, shivering in anticipation at what she might find, but the cave appeared vacant and, furthermore, was large enough for a few people to fit. She could only hope Bail had located an equally effective hiding place. Padmé sat against the wall, brought her knees to her chest, and held her breath, waiting, listening to the _drip drip drip_ of water as she prayed she wouldn't be found.

* * *

"Announcing His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Vader, and Her Imperial High—"

The rest of the proclamation was drowned out as hundreds of pairs of knees crumpled against a marble floor. Vader, refusing to cast even a cursory glance at his bowing subjects, strode forward so briskly that his cape billowed out behind him. Ahsoka followed, aided by two handmaidens who carried the long train of her gown. In the corner of the ballroom, a harpist and a pianist were weaving out a melody that, at least on the surface level, sounded joyful. But as the song echoed off of curved walls and loomed thick in the otherwise silent air, its isolated strands of notes turned haunting to Ahsoka's ears.

 _I, Emperor Vader of the Galactic Empire, pledge to teach the Princess Ahsoka how to halt her memory loss and to spare the lives of her friends, Kenobi and Bonteri._ The ballroom, pulsing with the light of a thousand crystal chandeliers, seemed to tip and then right itself again. As she reached the bottom of the dais, still replaying his pledge in her mind, the officer who had announced her arrival held out his hand, palm up. She lifted her gaze to the emperor, and an almost imperceptible grin crossed his lips as he nodded for her to take it.

So the officer guided her up the stairs, even though his help was entirely unnecessary, and Vader settled himself comfortably on his throne, propping his elbows on the armrests and swinging one leg over the other. Ahsoka made an effort not to look at him as she crossed to his left, where she knew she was supposed to sit. Padmé's throne, larger than Ahsoka's but smaller than the emperor's, remained conspiciously empty on Vader's right.

 _I, Princess Ahsoka of the Galactic Empire, pledge to act cordial toward Prince Erosik's family and to…and to cooperate with the emperor for as long as they are on Coruscant._ She scoured her own pledge for something she had said wrong, for a word that had given Vader more leverage than she'd meant it to, and, as she shot a furtive glance in his direction, realized that he was already watching her. He uncrossed his legs and planted both feet firmly on the floor, then commanded in a whisper for her to sit up straighter.

Already she knew she had made a grave mistake. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of obeying, but she knew that if she didn't, the repercussions would be far worse. The potential punishment he'd set for her darted back into memory, and she stiffened her posture and pinned her gaze ahead. She would suffer through the next few days and once it was all over, Vader would have to comply with his side of the deal. She just needed to be patient.

"You may rise," said the officer, and the guests climbed back to their feet with a soft clamour. Ahsoka was convinced that she could feel Vader's eyes on her, but she only tightened her grip around the armrests, resolute in her attempt not to look at him. "And now, introducing His Imperial Majesty's guests of honour: His Royal Majesty, King Seklio; Her Royal Majesty, Queen Lythéa; His Royal Highness, Prince Vivio; and Her Royal Highness, Princess Aedlyna."

Ahsoka's eyes widened slightly as the ballroom doors swung open, revealing four dark-haired, finely dressed figures. Had Erosik ever even told her that he had siblings? She thought she might have heard him talk about a brother once or twice, but she was almost certain he had never mentioned a sister. As the family came to a stop at the foot of the dais, the prince and princess a few steps behind their parents, Aedlyna curtsied immediately, but Vivio risked an unreadable glance at Ahsoka before dropping into a bow.

Whereas Aedlyna appeared to be in her early twenties, Vivio, broad-shouldered and taller than even his father, looked as though he were already approaching thirty. This might have explained some of Erosik's blatant insecurity; by birthright, Vivio had surely been named heir to the throne, which would have meant his younger brother was the spare. Again, Ahsoka was stunned at how little she'd known about the boy who had intended to become her husband. It seemed Erosik had had even less respect for her than she'd thought.

 _I was the one who killed him! Not Lahnya!_ I _killed Prince Erosik in self defence!_ She could remember the moment she'd declared those words on the balcony; she could envision the ripples of hushed shock that had filtered through the crowd, followed by a sudden tsunami of confusion; but for the life of her, she couldn't recall the incident itself. Now, more than ever, she wished she could draw on the memory for strength.

"Your Imperial Majesty." The king rose to his feet, followed by the rest of his family, and Ahsoka cut her gaze toward him. His hair shone with strands of silver, but despite his older appearance, she had to suppress a shudder at the sharp nose and dark eyes that had also belonged to Erosik. "Thank you for having us. It's an honour to be here."

"Hmm, yes. Did you get settled in well?"

"I suppose. One of the handmaidens was a little…less than welcoming."

"Give me her name and I shall speak to her."

The girl to Ahsoka's left—Lyria, she remembered—stiffened almost imperceptibly. She had been in Ahsoka's chambers for the past few hours, helping to prepare her for tonight, so she couldn't be the one the king had mentioned. But maybe she had a sister or a cousin who also worked at the palace? Checking first to make sure that Vader wasn't watching, Ahsoka set a reassuring hand on Lyria's arm. She shouldn't have acted so irate toward the handmaidens earlier. There were a few like Eirtaé, of course, who bubbled with enthusiasm for their work and for the new régime, but Ahsoka got the sense that most of the handmaidens hated their situation even more than she did. She thought of Lahnya and her aspirations in computer science. How many of these girls had been robbed of the futures they'd worked toward since childhood? Maybe Eirtaé and others like her _had_ to mask their true personalities, if they wanted to survive.

King Seklio flipped a hand, drawing Ahsoka out of her musings. "Didn't care to ask for her name. It's all right. If it happens again, I'll report it to you."

"Very well."

Lyria relaxed, and Ahsoka returned her hand to the armrest as Vader's gaze sliced in her direction. The others looked her way, too, and she froze at the half-smile on the king's lips and the scrutiny in the queen's eyes. "I take it this is my would-be daughter-in-law," Seklio said.

Ahsoka opened her mouth to respond. "Yes," Vader cut her off.

"We were so sorry to hear of her capture." Queen Lythéa shot her a thinly veiled glare, and Ahsoka's heart stuttered. "It was disappointing to come all the way to Coruscant for the wedding, only to learn that the bride wasn't even going to show."

"It was a difficult time for all of us, Your Majesty." Something in Vader's tone wiped the scowl from the queen's face, and she examined Ahsoka for another moment before nodding.

"Of course. The important thing is that she's safe now." She turned to her husband. "And she's just as Erosik described her, no? Very beautiful." _Of course that would be a priority for anyone related to Erosik. Secondary only to 'alive'._ Ahsoka pursed her lips tightly together as the queen fixed the emperor a pointed look. "In fact, after the funeral—"

"—After the funeral, we'll talk politics," Vader promised. "Ahsoka, why don't you become better acquainted with Prince Vivio and Princess Aedlyna?"

She frowned, incredulous at having been dismissed at the notion of "talking politics"—obviously code for something Vader didn't want her to know about—but she stood anyway and took her skirts in her hands, trailing down the steps with her handmaidens in tow. Vivio and Aedlyna had already started walking toward a separate corner of the ballroom, so she headed there, too, somewhat reluctantly. When she arrived, Aedlyna was examining her nails and Vivio was barking at a servant to bring him a drink. "Took you long enough," he grumbled, swiping it off of the silver tray that the boy had instantly held out to him. He downed the entire glass in one gulp and slammed it back onto the tray, snatching up another one.

Aedlyna glanced up from her nails and wrinkled her nose. "Oh, I'll have one, too," she said, waiting for the servant to slip the glass into her open hand.

The boy turned to Ahsoka next, offering her the tray, but before she could decline, Vivio scoffed and said, "Don't be an idiot. She's eighteen. Too young for alcohol."

 _Too young for alcohol, but apparently not too young to get married._ Ahsoka didn't dare voice that thought aloud, not after the pact she had made with Vader. Instead, she looked him in the eyes and said, politely but firmly, "I can speak for myself, Prince Vivio."

If she'd thought Erosik was tall, his brother was massive in comparison. Craning her neck to make eye contact with him almost _hurt_. She broke away her gaze after a moment and addressed the boy as gently as she could. "Thank you for the offer, but I'll pass."

The boy nodded and scampered off as quickly as he could, head down and cheeks burning. He looked so humiliated that Ahsoka had half a mind to run after him, hoping she could at least offer him some reassurance. But she was stopped in her tracks by a chorus of giggles and whispers, and she turned around to see that Aedlyna had her mouth to her brother's ear. He was watching Ahsoka, one corner of his mouth tucked upwards into a smug grin. They were laughing about _her!_ As the musicians started up another song, Vivio downed his second glass of wine and shoved it into Lyria's hand, then took Ahsoka's shoulder and started leading her toward the middle of the ballroom. "Dance with me, Princess?"

It didn't look like she had much of a choice. Ahsoka glanced over her shoulder and saw that Aedlyna had pursed her lips into a tight line, though it did nothing to conceal the mirth in her eyes. She and Vivio had already garnered the attention of multiple clusters of nobles, as well as most of the holocamera crews in the room. _Great._ This was _exactly_ what Vader had wanted. Ahsoka reminded herself that she'd known this would be the sacrifice, and it would all be worth it in the end. As he set his hands on her waist, she reached up to take his shoulders—painfully awkward, given his height—and stared past him instead of looking into his eyes.

At last, she said, "I'm sorry about your brother." Erosik's family weren't supposed to know, of course, that he'd died by the same hand he'd tried to claim with a ring. If anyone asked, Ahsoka's delusions that she'd been the one to kill him were simply products of an episode of "hysteria". Or so the story went. "It must be hard, to deal with that kind of loss."

She felt her hands rise and fall as he shrugged his shoulders. "I'm going to be king someday. I'll wage and win wars, quell riots, demolish rebellions…death will be an everyday occurrence. I might as well get used to it now. Besides, Erosik's lucky. If I were to die, I'd want to do it rescuing an Imperial princess or charging into the middle of a battlefield."

This fool had obviously never stepped foot on a battlefield. Ahsoka closed her eyes, reliving Padmé's bloodcurdling screams as her parents had burned alive and Sola had died in her arms. If she ever lost that memory, at least her friend's anguish wouldn't haunt her anymore. "It's—it's not as glamourous as you think," she said quietly.

He took it, of course, in the context of her capture. "Well, maybe not for you." Lifting her chin, he added, "I'm curious, Princess. What exactly did they even do?"

 _Curious?_ Ahsoka shook with silent rage, because even though she hadn't actually been kidnapped by mythical invaders, she was pretty sure that was _not_ the right thing to say to someone who had been. "They separated me from Empress Amidala and her children early on. Tortured me, drugged me…I don't remember a lot of it now, to be honest."

"Hmm." Vivio seemed unimpressed. "And they still haven't found the empress?"

"No." _And thank the Force for that,_ she added mentally.

Vivio nodded and promptly grew bored of the topic. He removed her left hand from his shoulder and examined the ring on her fourth finger. "My brother gave this to you?"

"Yes."

"And you're still wearing it?"

She side-stepped the question with one of her own. "Why is that a surprise?"

"It's not, really…did he ever mention me?"

"Once or twice. I don't think he ever talked about Aedlyna, though."

"Hmm. Well, I wasn't asking about Aedlyna, was I?" He threw her into an unexpected dip as the song came to an end, and she tightened her grip on his shoulders to keep from falling. He smiled at her with one side of his mouth, and for some reason, it nearly made her shudder. "Erosik was right about you, Princess. You really _are_ something."

The way he said it, it was almost like he was sharing an inside joke with himself. Ahsoka wasn't sure how to respond, but luckily, she didn't have to. "Your Highness," said a man's voice, and Vivio looked over his shoulder as he stood up, bringing Ahsoka along with him. She took a step backwards as soon as he let go of her. "Your father and mother are waiting to see you," continued the butler. "It seems you have some important matters to discuss."

"Ah, okay." Vivio combed a pale hand through his dark hair, sounding vaguely disappointed, though he winked at Ahsoka all the same. His irises were a blistering gold, only a shade or two darker than Vader's sulfur-yellow Sith eyes. "I'll see you around, Princess."

He turned his back and she pressed a hand to her stomach, trying not to vomit or scream as he left. Didn't he know he was too old for her? For Force's sake, _Erosik_ had been too old for her! And what had Aedlyna been giggling about with Vivio, right before he'd asked her to dance? Did they both find this funny? Ahsoka turned on her heel and walked as quickly as she could in the opposite direction, feeling suddenly that there wasn't enough air in the entire ballroom, but then someone caught her by the arm and she froze. "Your Highness? Are you all right?"

"I need…I need somewhere to sit," Ahsoka stammered. "Please."

She expected the woman to lead her to a nearby settee sofa, but instead, she escorted her toward one of the exits, sweeping a glass off of a servant's tray as they left. The hallway outside of the ballroom was cooler, untouched by the simmering body heat of hundreds of people, and Ahsoka fell into a plush sofa tucked beneath a window. "Drink this," the woman said, sitting beside her and pushing a crystal goblet into her hands. "It's water."

"Thank you," Ahsoka said, bringing the goblet to her lips and sparing a glance at the woman. She had warm, brown eyes and tan skin, and a tiara glimmered above a cascade of dark curls. In her presence, Ahsoka felt a sense of safety that she couldn't remember feeling since…since she'd been around Padmé. She stared down at the water goblet cupped between her hands, running her thumb absently along the lipstick-stained rim. Had it been so long since someone had been _kind_ to her? "Thank you," she said again, wishing she could find better words.

The woman set a gentle hand on her knee. "Come back in when you're ready," she said, and just like that, she climbed to her feet and disappeared.

Ahsoka remained in the hallway for a few more minutes, taking small sips of water and watching splashes of moonlight spill across the carpet. Then she set the empty goblet on the floor and reentered the ballroom through a different set of doors than the one she'd used to leave. Instantly, the explosion of chatter and music hit her like a hurricane. She searched for some way to blend in and quickly noticed that a few people were arranging a banquet of hors-d'œuvres nearby. She probably should have taken this opportunity to eat something—after all, Vader had seemed rather keen on starving her lately—but even after she'd piled her plate high with smoked salmon, focaccia, and vegetable rolls, she still couldn't stomach any of it.

Instead, she set the plate on a windowsill and hovered near the wall, trying to stay mostly out of sight, though a few people inevitably came by to tell her they were _so_ relieved she had been brought home safely or they were just _heartbroken_ she had lost her fiancé or they were praying every day for Empress Amidala to be found and rescued soon. And Ahsoka just smiled and nodded and thanked them as a few people turned into a crowd, watching out of the corner of her eye as the holocamera crews crept ever closer.

A cluster of about ten women approached, and Ahsoka began to suspect that she should move somewhere else before recognizing the brunette who had helped her into the hallway. She was talking enthusiastically with two other young women, both of whom, like her, wore tiaras nestled in their long, silky hair. Frequently, they would look toward another woman who was clearly the ringleader of the group, judging by her more elaborate tiara and her distinct air of prestige. Her almond-shaped eyes sparkled against her dark brown skin, and waves of black hair tumbled down to her waist, giving her a gentle beauty reminiscent of Padmé's.

The women rushed up to Ahsoka and, as they began to introduce themselves, unknowingly answered her lingering question. They had reminded her of Padmé because they hailed from Naboo as well, each one a princess who represented a different city. "That's Empress Amidala's planet," Ahsoka told an auburn-haired girl, like she wouldn't already know this, but she just nodded eagerly as she bobbed into a graceful curtsy.

The brunette came next in line, introducing herself as Princess Renée Clarina of Keren, but there wasn't even a flicker of recognition in her eyes as she curtsied and shook Ahsoka's hand. As she left, she remarked only, "I'm glad to know that our princess is safe," and then a blonde girl replaced her as she and the redhead swept to the side. Ahsoka tried her best to focus on the person in front of her, even though her mind kept wandering back to the brunette. Only a few minutes ago, she had gone out of her way to help Ahsoka, and now she was acting as though they had never even met? Had her act of kindness been riskier than Ahsoka had believed it to be, so dangerous that she had to pretend it had never happened?

A few minutes later, the last of the Nabooian princesses—the same woman Ahsoka had deemed their leader—came to a stop in front of her and curtsied. Sensing that she was someone of importance, more so than the others, Ahsoka returned the gesture. As she rose, the woman began her introduction. "I'm Princess Isé Sapphira of Theed. Empress Amidala might have told you that she held that position once, before she became Queen of Naboo?" Ahsoka nodded, and Princess Isé shook her outstretched hand. Something rough crumpled against Ahsoka's skin, and she feared her shock played out for an instant across her face. Princess Isé, on the other hand, kept her features perfectly expressionless. "We're relieved to know you're safe, Princess, and we're all hoping Empress Amidala will be recovered soon, as well. She's one of our own, after all. If Naboo can ever do anything to help you, feel free to let us know."

"Of…of course," Ahsoka stammered, and without another word, Princess Isé released her hand and glided off with her entourage. Glancing around to make sure no one seemed too interested in her at the moment, Ahsoka made a fist around the object—a piece of paper, she suspected—and clasped both hands behind her back. Now she just had to find a way to hide it for the rest of the night. Her answer came a moment later when she noticed a young Rodian male heading her way. Ahsoka passed by in the opposite direction, letting loose a faux-startled shriek as she accidentally-on-purpose collided with him. "Your Highness!" he gasped as she tumbled to the ground, and in a few seconds another dozen or so people had gathered around her, chattering over each other as they tried to determine if she was okay.

"I—I'm fine, I'm fine," Ahsoka protested, lifting herself into a crouch and tucking Princess Isé's note, unnoticed in the chaos, into the heel of her Sylviana Chère stiletto.

* * *

 **HuffleHecate: Thank you so much! :) I'm glad that you enjoyed it.**

 **SilverDaye: Thank you for your review. :)**

 **Nameless: Thank you very much for your review! I actually do have plans to bring Rex into the story soon, but your review gave me another idea that I might have to incorporate...**

 **GlamGram: Wow, thank you! I'm glad that you are enjoying the story and the writing, I'm kind of an English nerd and I enjoy coming up with metaphors, haha. ;) It also seems you are picking up on the more satiric aspects of the story, so I'm glad to hear that, too. Good always wins out in the end, and now that Ahsoka has established contact with Princess Isé of Naboo, perhaps things will begin to look up...**

 **Thank you again for all of your support and for reading. Please review if you can, I always appreciate feedback. :)**

 **-Isabelle**


	26. Chapter 26

**Hi, everyone, I'm back. I apologize for the wait, but thanks for your support in spite of it. In case you would like to know, I have begun editing and updating the earlier chapters of this story (so far, Chapters 1-5). I have not changed content and have simply edited the prose so that it is more consistent with my current writing style. The only exception is that I did add a bit of backstory in Chapter 5. Because I have not altered the plot line, reading the updated versions of those chapters is definitely not a requirement for understanding the story, but I thought I would leave a note just in case any of you are interested.** **In the meantime, please enjoy the next chapter. :) I will respond to reviews at the end.**

* * *

Ahsoka socialized for the next half hour or so, painting on an innocent mask as the scrap of paper chafed against her heel. Not once did anyone so much as mention her interaction with Princess Isé. It only took a few gullible head tilts and soft giggles until people began to look through her, content to consider her Not A Threat. "That's nice, my dear," Lord Terro cut her off, already searching for something past her shoulder, "but do you know where I could find your brother?" Ahsoka smiled brightly and shook her head no, burning with invisible rage.

This was something the palace had taught her very quickly: plastering on a semblance of naïvety was the best way to keep herself safe—and, of course, a means of coaxing valuable information from the lips of politicians and planetary royalty. Already she had learned of Vader's recent actions in the Senate, and she'd even picked up on hints of festering discontent at Padmé's continued absence. That didn't make playing dumb any less humiliating. When the crowds suddenly flooded away from her, drawn toward the centre of the ballroom by the announcement of Luke and Leia's arrival, Ahsoka sighed quietly of relief. The heat of those hundreds of eyes had left her, and she could be herself again.

Her moment of reprieve faded as she remembered Luke and Leia. She edged around the crowd until she had made her way to the front row, in clear view of her supposed niece and nephew. Padmé's twins had grown in the weeks—or had it been _months?_ —since she had last seen them, and she realized that they were rapidly approaching their first birthday. Luke was already sporting tufts of blond hair, whereas Leia, like her mother, had a crown of thick, dark curls.

Luke's nanny set him on the marble floor and the crowd cooed in delight, watching as their future emperor crawled clumsily toward the row of thrones. Leia whimpered and flailed in her nanny's grasp, outstretching a hand as if longing to join her brother, but the woman still did not put her down. Ahsoka, catching the nanny's eye, gestured for her to come over. Even as Leia struggled in her arms, she dropped into a well-practiced curtsy. "Princess?"

"I'll take her."

The nanny obeyed without question. Ahsoka carried Leia a little ways away from the crowd, but not so far that she couldn't keep an eye on Luke. The twins matched in royal blue with gold lace trim, but instead of the suit that her brother wore, Leia was swaddled in a silk gown, the skirts at least twice as long as her little legs. She was still too young for a proper tiara, as it would have weighed more than she did at this point, but a diamond headband got the point across. Leia must have preferred Ahsoka over the nanny, since she settled down after a few moments in her arms, but her eyes still fixated on Luke as he made his slow trek toward the dais. "I know," Ahsoka dared murmur into Leia's ear. "Unfair, isn't it?"

Imperial Princess Leia would be the next Ahsoka. As Luke rose to claim the power and prestige promised by his birthright, Leia would grow up in his shadow. She wouldn't matter much to the emperor, except as maybe a means of forging alliances through marriage. Would Vader teach Luke to silence and threaten his sister, the same way he himself had done to Ahsoka? Worse yet, would Luke believe him? Would Leia come to accept that this was just the way things were for her, as Ahsoka had before Padmé had told her the truth?

No. Absolutely not. She'd break that warped cycle of repeating history before it could come to fruition. If Ahsoka was trapped at the palace, at least there was still one worthwhile mission she could accomplish: protecting Leia and Luke from their father's corrupt influence. She wouldn't let Vader harm anyone else like he had her, let alone Padmé's daughter.

She looked down at the small girl in her arms. Leia had lost interest in Luke and was grasping Ahsoka's right lek with one hand, staring with steadfast focus over her putative aunt's shoulder. Ahsoka turned as well and almost dropped Leia in shock. A vase of roses and lilies was suspended half a metre above a small, intricately carved table, bobbing jovially in sync with the motion of Leia's outstretched hand. Ahsoka gasped and lunged toward the vase, grabbing it by the neck and forcing it back onto the table. Judging from a glance over her shoulder, it didn't seem anyone had noticed—the nobles, holocamera crews, and even Leia's nanny were preoccupied with Luke's antics—but Ahsoka was still shaken by the close call.

Her mind ached with a flurry of questions. Did Vader know that his daughter was Force-sensitive? Did Luke have the same abilities as his sister? If so, was the emperor planning on training them as Sith? That _had_ been his initial plan for Ahsoka, after all….

"Leia," she whispered, hoping the girl could understand her, or at least grasp her intention, "you can't do that here. You can't do that _ever_. It isn't safe."

She didn't have time to gauge Leia's reaction before a pair of doors thundered open, and every single person in the room, Ahsoka included, bolted to face the threshold. The guests leapt to make way as Vader stormed toward the dais, Seklio, Lythéa, and Vivio following in his wake. To Ahsoka's surprise, a smirk twisted the queen's features, and she'd clasped her hands over her son's shoulders in a proud gesture. Seklio, for the most part, appeared as insouciant as ever, though a flicker of a grin crossed his face as he and his wife exchanged knowing glances.

Luke's nanny scampered to scoop her charge off of the floor, and Vader's eyes raked over the crowd until they landed on Ahsoka and Leia. She saw his lips form around her name as he snapped his fingers and then jerked his head toward her throne. As she climbed the steps of the platform, Leia still in her arms, Ahsoka noticed that an ornately carved podium had been placed on the right end of the dais, blocking Padmé's vacant throne from view.

"Don't look so triumphant, Your Majesty." Before she had reached the top step, Ahsoka glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Vader's voice. He was clutching Queen Lythéa by the arm, speaking in a whisper that Ahsoka wouldn't have detected without her sensitive Togrutan hearing. "Nothing has been formally decided upon yet."

"Tomorrow," the queen agreed in a low murmur. "After the funeral."

He nodded and released her, and Ahsoka rushed to her throne as Vader swept up the steps of the dais, hoping he hadn't noticed her eavesdropping. Aedlyna wove out of the crowd, joining her family at the foot of the platform, as Vivio inclined his chin to catch Ahsoka's gaze. He grinned broadly, winked, and extended his champagne glass in her direction—almost as if to offer her a toast—before lifting it lazily to his lips.

"Tonight, despite the festivities, we cannot help but remember that we gather for one common, more sobering purpose." Vader's voice boomed from the podium, continuing to reverberate through the ballroom as he dipped his head in faux sorrow. "My younger sister's fiancé, _my_ would-be brother-in-law, sacrificed his own life so that she and my children could be safely brought home. Prince Erosik is no longer with us, but as we join with his family to celebrate his legacy and heroism, we must each do our part to make sure he is not forgotten—"

He continued on like that for awhile. Ahsoka warred with herself for the first five minutes, unsure whether the speech made her more intent on laughing or vomiting. Then she became bored and tuned out the emperor altogether, watching as Leia fiddled with the lace trim on her gown.

"Prin _cess_. Ahsoka." As the hum of Vader's words whetted into sudden clarity, her gaze flew up to the podium. He had turned his back to the holocameras and was staring at her with a clenched jaw. Stars, how long had he been repeating her name? Ahsoka stood, and Vader snatched Leia from her arms and shoved her behind the podium. "He was the _love_ of your _life,"_ he growled through a forced smile, so that only she could hear. "Don't forget it, girl."

Ahsoka dropped her gaze to the surface of the podium, where a stack of papers had been neatly arranged. Her name—well, _Princess_ Ahsoka's name—was printed at the top, poised above sprawling paragraphs of text. _A script._ Words that someone else had written for her to say. She clenched the sides of the podium and took a shaky breath.

"I wish…I could…find the words to do Erosik justice," she read aloud slowly, conscious of Vader still breathing down her neck. Ahsoka could actually think of _quite_ a few words, but they were all antonyms of the ones on the page. "A leader. A hero. My own true love." _Ugh._ The lies already tasted sour on her tongue. "He didn't forget me in my time of need, and now, even as my fiancé and I are separated by death, I won't forget him, either. In fact,"—here, she lifted her gaze to the nobles and immediately ripped it back down, too ashamed to make eye contact with anyone—"we must all remain vigilant in preserving the legend of his bravery, and the blow he struck against the criminals who still, in this moment, loom large as a threat to all of us…"

Her eyes meandered upwards again, locking onto an all-too-familiar face at the back of the room, and the rest of the words died on her lips. Sabé, with a tray of drinks in hand, stood tucked behind the holocamera crews, pinning Ahsoka with a steely gaze. It was the first time she had seen the handmaiden since arriving back at the palace, and she felt her mouth drop open as if in protest. No, this _wasn't_ what it looked like, she wasn't helping _him_ —but Sabé had already turned her back, and ice crystallized in Ahsoka's veins.

Her only ally left at the palace. Gone.

She struggled through the rest of the speech, trying to numb herself to the words that came from _her_ mouth. As applause rose up to greet the conclusion, Vader escorted her back to her throne and murmured, almost appreciatively, "Good show, Princess." It should have come as a relief. Instead, she couldn't help but feel dirty. Like a _traitor_.

* * *

She returned to her chambers with blistered feet, drooping eyelids, and a heavy heart. A chronometer on the opposite wall read _02.13_. Ahsoka had been dancing with Prince Vivio for the past hour or so. Coupled with Sabé's reaction to her speech, it had thrown her into a bitter mood. She sat on the edge of her bed, closing her eyes with a weary sigh. The handmaidens had already begun to bustle around the room, gathering her nightgown, robe, and slippers.

A door whined, and Ahsoka's eyes fluttered open again. Another handmaiden stood in the threshold of her chambers, dressed in a uniform that indicated she worked in the guests' wing of the palace. "Your Imperial Highness? I have a message for you from Prince Vivio."

Ahsoka pursed her lips into a line before forcing out a terse, _"Yes?"_

"He wants to thank you for all of the dances you shared. He said he enjoyed them very much."

 _I'm sure he did._ Ahsoka pulled herself to her feet and made straight for her refresher. She couldn't deal with this anymore. Not tonight. "Princess, wait," the handmaiden called after her. Ahsoka noticed out of the corner of her eye that the others were watching intently, having lost interest in deciding upon a nightgown. "Would you like to send a return message?"

Ahsoka didn't hesitate for a second before replying. "No."

One of the other girls noticed her reaching for the refresher door handle. "Should I start up a bath, Your Highness?" she chimed in. "You look so stressed…"

"I just want to be _alone."_ The words, more biting than Ahsoka had intended, shocked them all into silence. She swept into the refresher before they could argue, even as she heard whispers of _fiancé_ and _grieving_. Fine, she decided, locking the door behind her. Let them believe she was some lovesick ingénue. As long as it bought her a few moments of solitude.

Ahsoka pressed her back to the door and sank to the ground, drawing her knees to her chest and burying her face in golden folds of silk. Here in her refresher, finally isolated from the eyes of security cameras, she could be as afraid as she needed to be. At the same time, she knew she couldn't remain alone for too long without warranting suspicion. She waited until her shoulders stopped shaking and then rose to her feet, traipsing toward a marble bathtub.

As she sat on the edge, she slipped off her left stiletto, placed it gently on the floor, and then removed the other one, feeling for the crumpled piece of paper before setting the shoe next to its twin. Princess Isé had neatly folded the note into a compact square, now wrinkled and sweat-stained after the past few hours. Ahsoka's heart punched against her ribcage as she unfolded it delicately, scanning her gaze down the empty page until her eyes caught on the bottom margin. The awaiting words flashed up at her in tidy, miniscule cursive.

 _I saw what you did for Lahnya Adira. Unlike the rest of the galaxy, I refuse to pretend that it was anything but an act of bravery. Speaking up is always worth it in the end._

Ahsoka's heart skipped a beat and she just barely stifled a gasp, but not entirely because of the message. Beneath Princess Isé's words, a set of numbers graced the page, scrawled in an even tinier print. As Ahsoka squinted to make them out, a warm sensation passed through her chest, and she felt her lips part in breathless understanding.

 _A comlink frequency._

* * *

Padmé waited until the sun dipped below the horizon and then rose again, marked by streaks of crimson that dappled the floor of the cave. It was longer than she needed to outlast a head count, but she wasn't willing to take any chances. By the time she returned to Cietra's former house, hair tousled and eyes bloodshot, Bail was waiting for her in a similar condition. He tossed her a ration pack, and she sank into the nearest chair, opening it more carefully than necessary. "We can't go to Selda's anymore," she said finally. "We might be recognized."

Bail nodded stiffly, eyes pinned to the ground. "Then we'll stay here."

A moment of silence stretched into discomfort.

"Stormtroopers are mostly incompetent," Padmé offered. "Sometimes I'd have to greet legions of them on Anakin's arm, thank them for their service to the Empire…that was all before Anakin issued the draft, of course…before Ahsoka woke up from her coma…"

Bail nodded again but didn't say anything. Silence reinstalled itself between them, and Padmé's unspoken ramblings melted into its abyss, suddenly dead on her lips.

By the time the sun was only halfway visible, Kaeden had returned, rescuing Bail and Padmé from an hours-long bout of wordlessness. "I can't stay long. Miara's waiting for me at home, and besides, the Imperials have imposed a curfew. Nobody can stay out later than 20.00 hours." She crossed her arms, flicking her gaze pointedly between Padmé and Bail. "I was talking to one of the members of my crew this morning—you remember Malat? Her husband's family got them work on Sullust, and they're sending a ship to Raada to pick her up."

The meaning of her words, cloaked by a breezy tone, took a few moments to drift to the surface. Sullust was located along the Rimma Trade Route, one of the most significant passages in the galaxy. Even though it was an Outer Rim world, it boasted immediate access to Coruscant. _"Kaeden,"_ Padmé gasped. "I don't know how we can ever repay you—"

"Let me come."

Padmé didn't know what she had been expecting, but that certainly wasn't it. She froze and looked to Bail, who took a step toward the younger girl. "Kaeden, are you sure? It's going to be dangerous, and I know you have a sister here who needs you."

Kaeden shook her head. "Miara's the reason I'm coming. The Imperials are on Raada now, and if I can do anything to weaken them, maybe even lure them off my moon and away from my sister, I will. Neera can look after her for me while I'm gone. Besides," she added, "Malat knows me well, but she's only met the two of you briefly. I don't know that she'll be comfortable letting you onto her ship, not unless I'm there to vouch for you."

Bail flicked a glance at Padmé, who sighed and nodded. "All right, then. It's a deal."

"Great. I'll see you at the shipyard tomorrow morning, 09.30 hours." Kaeden winked and swept past the door, braids sailing out behind her as she plunged into the sun-streaked outdoors. Padmé watched her go, optimism and dread warring with each other in the pit of her stomach. Scenarios played across her mind's eye, each worse than the last, and she shuddered. She could only hope she hadn't doomed yet another young girl to a life in Vader's clutches.

* * *

Ever since the Princess Ahsoka had been thrust before the public eye, groups of fans across the galaxy, from the Core to the Outer Rim, had adopted her as their new celebrity. Of course, this required them to harbour varying amounts of both adoration and jealousy, and they would meet occasionally, holozines in hand, to lament that _those_ shoes or _that_ gown belonged to her and not to them. These gatherings, naturally, were unbeknownst to Ahsoka herself; likewise, those who envied her to occupy their time would have been shocked to learn that she didn't have anything she actually wanted. In fact, the Emperor Vader—concerned, as always, with the princess's best interests—kept such items well out of her grasp. A comlink would place her in danger, enabling her to communicate with people of whom he did not approve, and so that particular gift also lay beyond the bounds of his generosity.

Ahsoka knew this, and so she didn't bother to ask. Instead, as she walked into breakfast the next morning, the black silk of her mourning gown dragging behind her, she thought only of how she could secretly get her hands on a comlink. Of course, she'd also have to establish a private channel, and it would be wise to encrypt her messages so that Vader couldn't—

"Sleep well, dear?"

Her head snapped up at the melodic lilt of the queen's voice. Lythéa's smile dripped with sugary sweetness, but her eyes, sharp and eager, were those of a predator stalking her prey. Ahsoka mimicked the queen's smile as the lie rolled effortlessly from her tongue. "Yes. Very well."

"How wonderful to hear. Vivio," she added, glancing to the right at her son, who stood across from Ahsoka at a diagonal, "aren't you going to wish the princess a good morning?"

Ahsoka pulled her gaze down to her cutlery, clenching one hand into a fist beneath the table. For once, though, she was saved by the fanfare that accompanied the emperor's arrival, and the click of the holocameras as Erosik's family sank into bows and curtsies. Vader ignored them but came to a brief stop by Ahsoka, leaving his supposed sister with an apathetic kiss on the cheek. It took a concerted effort not to flinch away, but as he assumed his place at the head of the table, she mustered the strength to lock her gaze onto his. War medallions gleamed against his black dress uniform, and his eyes glinted like daggers in the glare of the chandeliers.

"You may all sit," he announced in a monotone, still staring unrelentingly at Ahsoka.

Even as she lowered herself into her chair, she did not break her gaze, and a flush of pride warmed her lekku as he looked away first. King Seklio sat on the opposite end of the table, and so the two men lapsed into convenient conversation, with Vader inquiring as to the quality of their accommodations so far. Seklio fed the emperor's ego, of course, claiming they had all been very comfortable and, no, they hadn't had any more issues with the handmaidens, and then, at some indecipherable point, their chat turned to a discussion of trade deals.

Ahsoka had listened idly to Erosik's talk of Crulius, but she hadn't known his homeworld was so wealthy, rich with natural resources and located on the crossroads of over a dozen significant trade routes. As a servant poured water into his glass, Vader teased out the possibility of strengthening an alliance between the Imperials and the Crulius royal family, and Lythéa, Vivio, and Aedlyna tore viciously into the conversation. It seemed that despite the sea of black mourning outfits, Erosik's family had promptly forgotten to grieve.

* * *

Stealing a comlink off of a palace staffer would be, at best, ill-advised. Vader probably had legions of spies listening in on those channels, and the last thing Ahsoka wanted was to get both herself and Princess Isé caught. Robbing the emperor himself, of course, would end her mission before it had even begun. What she needed was….

A hand settled heavily on her shoulder, and Ahsoka glanced up at its owner, startled out of her musings. The emperor stared stoically ahead, past the glass doors that sectioned off the royals from the marble landing platform. Two luxury speeders scintillated in the sun, their velvet-covered ramps already lowered. At Vader's brisk command, a guard swept open the doors, and a rush of morning breeze, tainted slightly by the omnipresent hint of Coruscanti smog, filled Ahsoka's lungs. They hadn't even stepped outside yet, and still she shivered at the thrill of it. This was the first time she had breathed in fresh air since the incident on the balcony.

She shook her head to clear the image, veering back to her previous train of thought. What she needed was a communication device unaffiliated with the Imperial palace, one that Vader's spies couldn't trace. Of course, it would still have to be accessible from the inside….

"Your Imperial Majesty, my son and I were wondering if we might take the princess with us?"

"You shall travel to the funeral with _your_ princess, Queen Lythéa." Vader nodded in Aedlyna's direction. She stood a little ways away from her mother and brother, riffling disinterestedly through a delicate silk purse. "And I shall travel with mine."

Lythéa responded with a tight-lipped smile and a curt, "Of course." Behind her, Aedlyna examined a few tubes of lip gloss before dropping them back into her purse, and then the flash of silver caught Ahsoka's eye so briefly that she almost missed it. Hardly a second later, Vader was dragging her toward his speeder, and Ahsoka swallowed the gasp that threatened to rip from her throat. Aedlyna's parents must not have harboured concerns about their daughter conspiring behind their backs, if they allowed her to keep a _comlink_ on her person…

 _Communication device. Unaffiliated with the Imperial palace. Accessible from the inside._

Stars, how could this not have occurred to her earlier?

At Vader's whispered urging, Ahsoka accepted the bodyguard's hand and let him help her up into the speeder, pursing her lips to suppress a smile. After the funeral, she would have to pay a visit to Aedlyna's guest chambers. _Two young women, ostensibly together to grieve the loss of a brother and a fiancé._ Oh, yes. It would be the perfect cover story.

* * *

From the opposite side of the glass, the shimmering skyscrapers and swooping speeders were nothing but a swirl of silver. Emperor Vader watched the streaks of colour bolt past, sparking in and out of view as the royal speeder tore through the sky. After a contemplative moment, he cut a glance at Ahsoka. She was seated across from him, eyes closed and hands folded delicately in her lap. A frown tugged at the corners of his lips. Why did she look so _calm?_

The floor beneath his feet shuddered as the vehicle lulled to a temporary stop. Vader stood and clipped across the broad expanse of the emperor's cabin, eventually settling in beside Ahsoka. She didn't open her eyes, even as the velvet cushion crinkled beneath his weight, and he nearly scowled. _Stubborn brat._ Nobody else in her position would have dared to ignore their emperor, but apparently, he had spoiled Ahsoka past the point of redemption.

More firmly, Vader clamped a hand around her knee and said, in a low murmur, _"Princess."_ Her shoulders tensed and then fell, but when she still didn't bother to look at him, he grabbed her by the chin without any semblance of gentleness. Prince Erosik's family were travelling in a different speeder, and Vader had already dismissed the guards and shut off the holocameras. Here, while he and Ahsoka were alone, there was no need to play the role of the well-meaning older brother. For once, he could let that mask drop.

When her eyes opened to meet his, he smiled and said, "Good." Her features twisted into something akin to disgust, but she didn't produce the scathing remark he'd expected. "I am going to tell you exactly what to do at the funeral," he continued, "and you are going to obey."

Again, he thought that she might argue, but Ahsoka—for now, at least—was smart enough not to break a Force-sanctioned pact. "Fine," she said, managing to inflect a disinterested tone, but he still noticed as she worried the silk of her gown. "Let's get it over with, then."

Vader chuckled. _As if she had a choice._ "First of all, the entire galaxy watched you go insane over the prince's death. You need to appear as though you're actually grieving." He brushed an idle hand over the weapons that gleamed at his hip—a dagger, a knife, a lightsaber. "If you have any trouble forcing yourself to cry, I'm sure I can help in that department."

Ahsoka's shudder was fleeting, but Vader still felt the violent tremor beneath his touch. "You're sick, you know that?" she spat. Her eyes flashed almost murderously. "I can't…I just can't believe Padmé could have _ever_ loved someone like _you."_

Vader dropped his hold on her chin. His vision fell out of focus, blood roared in his ears, and a growl bubbled in the back of his throat. Beyond the haze of blistering rage, he could just barely make out Ahsoka's set expression. The Dark Side convulsed around him, screaming a list of potential punishments, nudging his hand back toward his weapons, but he couldn't drag her to the funeral with a new bruise or scar. "How _dare_ you speak her name!"

Ahsoka threw back her shoulders and very nearly _snarled_. "I'm just telling the truth. I hope you know that Padmé wants you dead more than I do, and _trust_ me, that's saying something."

"Shame. I was going to offer to hold my side of the bargain tonight, _if_ you behaved at—"

He tapered off with a half-smile, realizing that she had already stilled. Her eyes bore straight ahead as she knotted her fingers together in her lap. "You mean that you'd…" She chewed on her lip for a moment. "…You'd give me my memories back?"

He didn't bother to suppress a laugh at the vulnerability that quivered in her voice. She may have latched onto his weak spot, but two could play at that game. Ahsoka flinched, and Vader chuckled again, now aware of what simple power that action held. The knowledge that he found her situation _amusing_ cut deeper than any physical wound. "I would teach you how to _halt_ your memory loss," he corrected. "But if you continue to misbehave, I might have to conveniently forget to carry out my end of the bargain"—Ahsoka jerked her head to look at him, her mouth already open in protest—"until _after_ you've lost the rest of your memories."

He looked away from her sharply and flexed his mechanical fingers, giving his words time to sink in. When she spoke next, her voice was raw, scraping almost excrutiatingly from her throat. "I should have _known_. I should have known better than to trust _you!"_

Vader shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes. You probably should have."

"You _swore_ to the _Force,"_ she tried to insist, but it fell from her lips as a weak whisper. She propped her elbows on her knees and dropped her head into her hands, her shoulders trembling slightly. "Stars, no…Force…no… _I hate you."_

The last three words rattled him with their venom. When she looked up, he almost expected her irises to blaze yellow. Instead, angry tears glittered in her aquamarine eyes.

"I can live with that," he said at last, as evenly as he could.

Ahsoka, with impressive ferocity, ripped away her gaze and stared straight ahead, frozen except for the fingers that twisted rapidly in her lap. She blinked a few times, but tears still beaded on her eyelashes. A few of them even slipped down her cheeks, accompanied by streaks of mascara, and she wiped at them aggressively with the back of her hand.

Vader caught her wrist with a dark chuckle. "No, that's good," he murmured, intentionally spurring on her humiliation. He could tell he'd succeeded when a blush bloomed along her neck and cheeks. "Remember? Crying makes your story more believable, Princess."

 _"_ _Your_ story. And don't touch me," she bit out, wrenching her wrist from his grasp. For a moment, she stared at the floor so intensely that he wondered, wryly, if she was trying to burn holes through the carpet with her eyes. "I would kill you if I could," she said at last.

"How unfortunate that you made a pact with the Force itself, promising to cooperate with me."

She clenched a handful of silk in a fist but said nothing.

Past the window, the Coruscanti landscape shuddered and then stilled. "It appears that we've arrived, Princess," Vader murmured. He wrapped an arm around Ahsoka's shoulders and, before she could protest, pulled her against his side, right as two guards entered the emperor's cabin. The princess looked up, still blinking away hot tears, and as horror ghosted over her features, he knew she understood what he had done. How this would look. A young bride weeping in anticipation of her fiancé's funeral, comforted by none other than her adoring older brother. Vader slipped back on the mask, gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and, with a flick of his wrist, harnessed the Force to turn the cameras back on.

* * *

Prince Erosik's funeral was held in the same temple where they would have been married. As she clipped down the hallway in the emperor's wake, Ahsoka counted the clicks of her heels against marble. To centre her senses on the staccato drone was to block out the rest, the stained glass and the gold leaf and the paintings plastered vibrantly across the ceilings; the corner that Vader had backed her into, the one she'd been foolish enough to back _towards_.

It was not an open-casket funeral. Erosik's body had been mutilated. Or so the story went.

"Princess, I hope you don't mind, but you seemed so aloof and I _had_ to ask your bodyguards why. They said they witnessed you crying over my brother on the way here?"

"I'm fine, Prince Vivio. Thank you for your concern."

"See, this is what I mean. There's no need to act so _defensive,_ I'm just checking on you."

Ahsoka halted in her tracks, and so did the bodyguards, edging closer toward her and Vivio as they tightened their diamond formation. The emperor and the rest of Erosik's family still swept down the hallway, drawing closer to an empty casket and a waiting audience of thousands.

"I don't need you to check on me," she said.

The funeral itself stretched on into eternity. Whenever Vivio leaned forward in his seat, she would peer at the stained glass window normally blocked by his sturdy frame, trying to gauge the time of day from the meagre light that seeped through. Vader had assumed the place to her left, conveniently blocking her from the aisle, and Ahsoka trembled with the urge to tear past him and out of the room. She could feel the eyes of the reporters and their holocameras pinning the back of her lekku, swarming throughout the cavernous chamber like an infestation.

The emperor pulled her against him as he had in the speeder, whispering a command under the guise of giving condolences. She blinked so that a few more forced tears rolled down her cheeks, curling into his chest with a keening sob. The choir did not interrupt their anguished song, but she heard the rustle of fabric as thousands of guests shifted in their seats to stare at her. Ahsoka burned in shame, and as Vader rubbed circles along her lower back, she could hardly keep from flinching. But that wasn't the story the rest of the galaxy would see. _They_ would see the heartbroken princess weeping into her brother's chest, and _he_ would come across as a pillar of strength, able to keep his composure as his sister crumpled to pieces.

 _Weak. Emotional. Hysterical._ HoloNet reporters would fling around those adjectives for weeks to come, and Ahsoka's already strained credibility would shatter, finalizing Vader's version of history as the "truth". Padmé had warned her that newscasters were all too eager to undermine strong women through accusations of "hysteria" or "vulnerability", even if they would never charge their male colleagues with the same crimes. It had happened to Padmé as queen and later as senator, and now Vader was seizing advantage of this entrenched sexism—as if he hadn't done this enough _already_ —for his own hideous gains.

Ahsoka swallowed, tasting bile. She had been so stupid when she had pledged to cooperate with him, so _stupid_. If, before last night's ball, she had listened to reason instead of desperation, she would have realized that his vow was tailored so as not to sacrifice anything. He'd admitted himself that he cared not whether Lux lived or died, and if Padmé had been correct about his possessive love for Obi-Wan, Vader never would have killed him under _any_ circumstances, vow or no vow. He may have sworn to help halt Ahsoka's memory loss, but he had never specified _when_. Learning how to put an end to it couldn't save her, not once she'd already lost the memories, yet Vader—technically—would have still fulfilled his end of the bargain.

There was only one way to go about this: she had to worm her way out of _her_ side of the deal, and that meant cajoling Erosik's family into leaving the planet. After all, she _had_ specified when, and her pledge only lasted as long as the Crulius royals remained on Coruscant. As soon as they exited the atmosphere, the Dark Side of the Force could no longer bind her to the emperor's commands. Maybe, once she contacted Princess Isé, she would agree to invite Erosik's family to Theed Palace, effectively luring them off of Coruscant…

Enough daydreaming. She had to get the comlink first.

Mournful voices trickled on until the final measure, marked by the solemn silence that spilled in to take their place. It stretched on for one, five, thirty seconds, until a honeyed voice shattered the stillness with a delicate: "Princess?" Ahsoka looked up with humiliating, viscous, _fake_ tears still trickling down her cheeks. "It's time to say goodbye," said Queen Lythéa.

Ahsoka searched her icy eyes, trying to determine what in the galaxy she meant, but as the queen pulled her to her feet and led her toward the front of the room, she knew. Two pairs of heels clicked against marble steps and then, once they reached the top of the dais, Lythéa approached the empty casket to offer her litany of farewells. Ahsoka's eyes darted across the chamber, up to the balconies and back down to the front row where Vader, looming large beside the rest of Erosik's family, was scrutinizing her with a steely eye.

She returned her gaze to the casket. It was of gleaming mahogany, generously adorned with diamonds and emeralds. As Erosik's mother draped their planet's flag over the lid, Ahsoka realized the choice of gemstones had been deliberate, intended to match Crulius's colours. "Go, dear," Lythéa intoned, uncharacteristically genuine in her kindness. "You were his princess, his bride. He would want a chance to say goodbye to you."

Ahsoka didn't feel obligated to grant Erosik anything he would have wanted, even in death. As she pressed a hand to the casket, as the obligatory tears wove down her cheeks, as she whispered her goodbyes, none of it was for him. Instead, she thought of Sola, her body abandoned in a Nabooian boutique, and Lahnya, executed unceremoniously for crimes that had not been her own. They had never betrayed Ahsoka and Padmé, even while staring death square in the face. As thousands flocked to mourn Erosik's loss, who remembered the true heroes, Sola and Lahnya and everyone else caught in the crossfire of this war?

Slowly, taking care to ensure that everyone could see, Ahsoka slid Erosik's engagement ring from her finger and placed it decisively on top of the casket. The Crulius flag muffled the sound, but the collective intake of breath more than made up for it. "I think you should have this back, Erosik," she said in a murmur. The words still echoed in the stunned silence. Most people, she figured, would come to the conclusion that it was a sweet, even romantic gesture. But Vader would know what she had done. It was her little act of rebellion.

She would grieve for Sola and Lahnya. But not for Erosik. Never for Erosik.

* * *

Sullust, choked with plumes of pollution and toxicity, proved grimier than even some of the shadiest areas on Coruscant. Padmé coughed into her elbow as she exited Malat's ship, Bail at her side. Kaeden had lingered behind to wish Malat and her family well, and now she shuffled down the loading ramp, taking in the labyrinth of factories, smoke, and alleys congested with hunched forms. "Well," she said, "this is certainly… _different_ than Raada."

Padmé couldn't say she disagreed. She tugged at her cowl so that it nearly covered her eyes, ensuring her anonymity before taking her first step forward. Bail and Kaeden hovered close, flanking her on either side. "We won't have to stay long," Padmé murmured as they walked, keeping her gaze locked ahead. "We just have to hold out for a ride to Coruscant."

Kaeden produced a noncommittal, "Mmm." As they turned the corner into a litter-strewn street, Padmé noticed the younger girl eyeing the factories with suspicion. She didn't blame her; the duracrete monsters, stabbing upward into a sky swollen with smoke, were the antithesis of the small, agricultural town in which Kaeden had grown up. Padmé knew from her days in the Senate that the SoroSuub Corporation employed about half of Sullust's population, but it seemed their prosperity had taken its toll in the form of environmental damage. What was worse, Sullust had once been a Separatist world. If Anakin had agreed to accept the planet into the Empire, its most affluent enterprise doubtless worked for him now.

Padmé ducked her head as a blaze of neon shifted over her like a spotlight. She didn't notice the commotion until a crash sounded from inside of the adjacent bar. Some unknown instinct sent her scampering back into the shadows, pushing Bail and Kaeden behind her protectively, as two stormtroopers, followed closely by an Imperial officer, dragged a Sullustan man out into the street. His face was purpled with bruises, and his hands were still clenched into loose fists. Drunken protests slipped abundantly from his tongue, even as one of the stormtroopers kicked him in the ribs and ordered him to shut up. The officer scoffed and trod disdainfully around the Sullustan man, sweeping his eyes back and forth across the street—

—And Padmé froze, her insides spoiled with icy dread.

The officer had already broken eye contact, turning to exchange words with the stormtroopers, and Padmé breathed, _"Go."_ But it wasn't until he motioned in her direction—a sharp, two-fingered gesture, like a salute—that the words flooded more profusely from her mouth: "I think he saw me, split up, _now,_ we'll meet back in two hours if it's safe…the shipyard…"

She catapulted herself into a run, hoping the thud of footsteps behind her belonged to Bail and Kaeden. Pedestrians threw themselves out of her way as she hurtled forward, ignoring the burn of lactic acid as it accumulated in her leg muscles. The stormtroopers' voices, modulated slightly by their helmets, rang in her ears, followed by the pounding of their steps. As she veered off into an alley, her cowl slipped to reveal her face, though she supposed it didn't matter now. She just pumped her arms faster, battling the urge to clutch at the stitches in her sides.

And then she had collided with a brick wall, tasting salt as sweat trickled from her upper lip. She closed her eyes and again blinked them open. By then, her body had taken in enough oxygen to drive the black spots from her vision. Padmé pushed herself off of the wall, hobbling backwards on shaky legs, and searched for another way out. Bile wedged in her throat as she slowly realized her predicament. "Force, _no,"_ she cursed under her breath.

She had reached a dead end, and the thundering of armoured footsteps was growing nearer. Padmé pressed a desperate hand to the wall, but this was not a holodrama, and it did not miraculously disappear or shift aside to reveal a secret passage. The bricks, at least, were unevenly layered so that some of them jutted out like footholds. _Maybe…._

"There she is!"

The metallic exclamation seared her eardrums, and she bolted around to face the approaching squad of stormtroopers. One of them was already halfway down the alley, his gun unholstered. Padmé grabbed one of the handholds and hauled herself up the wall, nearly choking on panic and adrenaline. The bricks tore at her skin as she seized one after another, and a particularly sharp edge drew a bloody gash along her right palm. Nothing had ever felt so good. She was almost at the top. A hand grasped her ankle, and still she scrambled for the next brick, shooting her left hand upward to find something cooler and smoother—something _rounder_ —against her palm instead. She tightened her grip and heaved herself upward, sending her heel flying into the stormtrooper's helmeted face. A satisfying _crack_ , followed by an even more satisfying yelp, reached her ears, and he dropped her ankle as though it had burned him.

It was just as she had told Bail on Raada. Stormtroopers were invariably pathetic.

Padmé flexed her left arm to pull herself higher, clambering onto the top of the rod that had saved her. The new vantage point nearly stole her breath away. An intricate arrangement of _pipes_ twisted on for as far as the eye could see—along the sides of buildings but mostly _above_ them, like a gleaming system of roads suspended in the sky. Padmé didn't know of any other world that displayed their sewage system so proudly, but she had to guess it had something to do with the SoroSuub Corporation. Shakily, she climbed to her feet and sucked in a strained breath, wobbling along the pipe like a particularly unbalanced tightrope walker.

Below, Padmé could hear the stormtroopers scrambling to follow her, but she was smaller and more agile, and she didn't think they would stand a chance if they tried to climb the pipe system. They would have to shed their armour first, at least…She shuddered as a violent gust of wind shrieked past, nearly knocking her from her perch. Padmé collapsed to her knees and clung to the pipe with sweaty hands. As she gasped for breath, smog-filled air curled in her lungs.

Hesitantly, she extended one hand forward and hauled herself excruciatingly along the pipe. It creaked beneath her weight at even the smallest movement, and she had to suppress a ceaseless stream of gasps. Wind pelted her face and roared in her ears like foreboding percussion, pounding in time with her heartbeat. Padmé kept her eyes fixated ahead. If she could make it just a little bit farther, she would reach the building attached to this pipeline, and then she could crawl back down to solid ground and slip away.

As she reached for the building's edge, however, the shock of a scream pierced the air…the sudden plummet was ripping air from her lungs…she shot her good hand upward and clamped her fingers around the pipe, legs dangling limply beneath her like two swinging pendulums. Padmé grimaced as she stretched her right hand toward the nearest building, straining to grasp the pipe that snaked down its side. After an eternity of tension, she heaved a sigh of relief and climbed to the ground, leaving the pipeline stained scarlet with blood.

The alley in which she now found herself curved onto the main street, but Padmé's keen eyes flicked instead in the opposite direction, where the path ducked ashamedly behind a factory. As she surged along the latter of her two options—a glorified crumble of pebbles and brick fragments—she whipped off her cowl and used it to wrap her bleeding hand. The alley pulsed with a pungent sweetness, like rotten eggs and roses thrown together, and Padmé wrinkled her nose as she forged ahead, trying to block out the odour—

—Scrape of pebbles against her cheek—man's face, vaguely familiar—or was it the barrel of a _gun?_ Padmé blinked, deciding in her stupor that yes, indeed, it _was_ a gun, and the pebbles were now sinking into her elbows like teeth. As her gaze slid higher, she thought inexplicably of morning, for a set of eyes bobbed above the blaster, a sun silhouetted against its horizon. At that moment, everything slammed back into memory—who he was, where she knew him from—and she scampered backward as the clone trooper pressed the gun between her eyes. "Oh, no," he rasped. "You're not going anywhere, Empress Amidala."

* * *

 **Nameless: Thank you so much! I'm so glad to hear that my response meant a lot to you. I sincerely appreciate the time you take to give me feedback and comments. :)**

 **donutstar123: Thank you so much for your kind words! :) I apologize for the late update.**

 **Reviews are always appreciated, so if you enjoyed the chapter or have feedback, please let me know. By the way, has anyone picked up _Queen's Shadow_? Aren't you so thrilled that we get to learn more about our favourite handmaidens? ;)**

 **-Isabelle**


	27. Chapter 27

**I had all of these daydreams about getting this chapter posted early, and alas, life got in the way again. I appreciate your support in spite of the wait and hope you'll find that this chapter was worth it. :)**

 **Also, I finished _Queen's Shadow_ (absolutely loved it!) and am now reading _Leia: Princess of Alderaan_. If you have also read _Queen's Shadow,_ you will see that it influenced this chapter, as I like to weave as much canon information into my stories as I can. I have done my best to ensure that you can understand everything whether or not you have read _Queen's Shadow,_ but if anything is confusing, please let me know in the reviews and I will clarify or fix it.**

 **Last thing before I let you all start reading: the new _Clone Wars_ trailer! AHHH! I was excited all day after I first watched it. What did all of you think? I will answer reviews at the end of this chapter, and as you all know, I do not own _Star Wars_.**

* * *

"Empress Padmé Amidala? Sighted on Sullust?"

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. The transmission just came in from Captain Ozzel."

"Well, did he apprehend her?… _Did_ he?"

"…No, my lo—"

"Really. Well, I trust this mistake will not be made again. _Will_ it, boy?"

"No— _no,_ Your Majesty, I beg you—"

"Excellent. Lock down all spaceports on Sullust until Amidala is found and brought to me. We shall send a search party to collect her and restore her to her proper place."

"…Yes, Your—Your Majesty. Consider it done."

* * *

Padmé stared past the barrel of the gun, trembling as she supported her weight on her elbows. Shadows dappled the clone trooper's face, scattered occasionally by a sweep of neon lights, but even in these moments she could not identify him. Despite her repeated attempts to push through legislation for clone personhood, she had never known them as well as Anakin. Even if she had, it wouldn't have mattered. The individuality she had fought to preserve on an intergalactic level had been wiped away by millions of devices so tiny, so discreetly placed, that the Jedi—even the clones themselves—had been ignorant of their existence.

But those chips had tilted the playing field, and now _he_ —the man with a blaster to her head—worked for the Empire. They all did. She could not forget that.

Padmé swung her right leg upwards, delivering a powerful kick to the trooper's forehead, and he grunted as he stumbled backwards a few paces. _Captain Panaka would have been proud._ The thought sprang unbidden to Padmé's mind, and she shook her head to clear his image: a man she had once called a friend, a _mentor,_ staring at her from across the plaza on Naboo. An opponent. An Imperial. If he hadn't tried to stop her, maybe she could have saved her sister…

"Traitor," she hissed, unsure whether she was speaking of Panaka or the man in front of her.

Even after her attack, the gun remained clenched in his right fist, but at least its barrel was no longer propped between her eyes. Now that she could see him at somewhat of a distance, Padmé realized that this trooper was not dressed in armour but in _civvies_. She supposed that was good strategy on the part of the Empire, to send soldiers wandering the cities clothed as civilians. It was yet another technique Anakin had never bothered to share with her.

"I don't know what you expect, Empress." The clone trooper scowled and hefted his gun onto his shoulder. "But I'm sure as hell not falling on my knees and worshipping you."

A scoff sounded deep in Padmé's throat. "In all honesty, I can't believe your commanding officer would allow you to speak to me like that. I _am_ still a member of the Imperial royal family, after all. Has the Empire been so quick to denounce me a criminal?"

She figured that pulling rank might give her a scrap of leverage, even if he had come to capture her on Anakin's behalf. Instead, the trooper barked with derisive laughter. "You think you're so high and mighty, don't you, Your Majesty? I don't _have_ a commanding officer, not anymore. Your precious Empire isn't here to rescue you, so you can kiss those delusions goodbye."

Padmé's heart dropped to her stomach. He thought—he thought _she_ was with the Empire? "No," she breathed. "Order 66—the clone army turned on the Jedi—the chips—"

"I removed my chip." The clone trooper jabbed a finger at his temple, where a scar puckered the skin. "My last battle was the Siege of Mandalore. That's where my brothers turned on me and tried to kill our _jetii_. But I helped Commander Tano escape Order 66—"

"Ahsoka _didn't_ escape Order 66," Padmé snarled. "Anakin captured her on Mandalore and imprisoned _both_ of us in his shiny, new Coruscanti palace."

"You're telling me you're not Imperial." In a split second, the trooper had both swung the blaster from his shoulder and aimed it in her direction. "Swear it."

Padmé lifted her hands into a defensive position. "I swear. I'm the leader of the Rebellion. I'm about as far from 'Imperial' as one could possibly get."

He lowered the gun, just in the slightest. "Rebellion?"

 _Oh._ Padmé sucked in a breath through her teeth, realizing her mistake. She never should have mentioned the Rebellion to someone whose name she didn't even know, but she supposed it was too late now. "Yes," she said slowly. "I've been running from the emperor. Ahsoka, too. Well…she _was_ until he recaptured her, and I'm still trying to get her back."

Her voice echoed off of the alley walls and bounced back to her, heavy in the silence. Only then did she realize how vulnerable she sounded, broken and wrought with despair. It was not how Padmé Amidala liked to present herself to strangers, but something in the man's eyes had shifted, and he heaved a sigh before holstering his blaster. "The name's Rex," he announced with his usual gruffness, but she still felt some of the tension in her shoulders bleed away. "And unless you fancy capture, Amidala, I suggest that you come with me."

* * *

The apartment, nestled in darkness and cluttered with junk on all surfaces, was lit only by the flickering glow of a faulty holoscreen. In the corner of the living area, an old speaker rattled off a folk melody that had veered eerily off tune. Rex collapsed onto a couch with upholstery so torn, stuffing flooded freely in all directions. "You can come in, Amidala," he said, but the invitation was issued so tersely that Padmé wasn't confident he actually meant it.

Nonetheless, she stepped over a pile of discarded armour and came to a stop by an equally damaged armchair. "So," Rex continued, "how'd you end up here? On Sullust, I mean."

"Maybe first you can tell me why you've got on TriNebulon News."

Ever since the beginning of her career on Coruscant, when the news network had entertained readers by publishing gossip and libel about Senator Amidala, Padmé hadn't exactly had a great track record with TriNebulon. Though Mon Mothma had later helped swing public opinion in her favour, Padmé was still predisposed to distrust anyone who chose TriNebulon as a news source. Rex scoffed and kicked his feet up onto the caf table, folding his hands behind his head. "The Empire's decided to use TriNebulon as its official news platform. Worse yet, on planets with heavy Imperial presence—like Sullust—every home is required by law to contain at least one holoscreen programmed to play a constant stream of Imperial propaganda."

"You can't turn it off," Padmé realized.

"I'm surprised, as the empress, that you wouldn't already have known that." Rex didn't sound _suspicious,_ per se, but she could tell she had at least piqued his curiosity.

"Anakin—" She swallowed hard as her throat closed up. "Anakin told me a lot less than one might have expected. He never trusted me, really…rightly so, I suppose."

"It's hard to imagine General Skywalker so secretive," Rex grumbled, plucking a loose piece of stuffing from the couch and throwing it onto the caf table in idle frustration. "Then again, I never would've pegged him as the type to terrorize the universe, either."

Padmé laughed hollowly. "Yeah…," she agreed, hugging herself as she leaned against the armrest of the chair. "You knew him? During the Clone Wars?"

"Are you kidding?" Rex looked her in the eyes for the first time since they had entered the apartment. His eyebrows had already leapt to his hairline. "He was my general. My _jetii_."

"Rex… _Captain_ Rex." The name slipped so freely from Padmé's mouth, she couldn't believe it had taken her this long to piece two and two together. "Of course. I remember now. He would talk about you, sometimes. In fact, a lot of the proposals I included in my clone personhood bills were inspired by stories Anakin would tell me about the 501st."

"Yeah, well," Rex said wearily, "nothing the Senate did ever helped _us_ much."

Padmé might have been stung by his comment, but the mention of "Naboo" on TriNebulon snatched her attention away from the conversation at hand. _"…The planet has since been recovering from a devastating attack on Empress Amidala's family,"_ the reporter was saying. _"Last week, Queen Kylantha held a ceremony at Theed Palace in honour of Ruwee, Jobal, and Sola Naberrie, Her Imperial Majesty's late parents and sister."_ Sola's image flashed across the screen, and Padmé's knees buckled. She sank into the armchair, unable now to trust her legs to hold her upright, but she clenched one hand into a fist all the same.

 _"_ _The criminals who murdered the Naberrie family were none other than the very felons who abducted Empress Amidala, Crown Prince Luke, and Princesses Ahsoka and Leia. They have recently identified themselves as Jedi-sympathizers by the name of Shield of Ashla and are now so audacious as to advocate overthrow of all intergalactic government—"_

 _Shield of Ashla?_ This was new. It seemed Anakin had finally gotten around to naming the mythical criminals who served as his scapegoats. Part of her wanted to laugh at the pitifulness of it all. The other half was telling her to drive her fist through the holoscreen. _"Liar,"_ she spat. "Nobody is encouraging _anarchy_. What we _want_ is to restore the Republic in place of the Empire, and…and Anakin— _Anakin_ was the one who murdered my family—"

She covered her mouth with both hands and choked back a sob, but Rex looked at her anyway, unwanted pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Amidala," he said bluntly. "It's wrong, that's what it is."

 _Wrong._ Padmé had a lineup of words— _stronger_ words—that she would use before _wrong_.

She kept them to herself.

 _"—_ _On a happier note, Queen Kylantha has just issued a statement concerning the status of Moff Quarsh Panaka's health. He has recently recovered from all injuries sustained during his defence of Naboo and will be returning to the queen's service tomor—"_

Padmé had already stopped listening. A shrill ring pierced her eardrums and the world around her slowed to a crawl. She whispered his name over and over again, as if repetition would sharpen those three styllables into meaning. "Panaka," she said, "Panaka, Panaka…"

She had fought by his side in the Battle of Naboo, and up until her last days as queen—long after her reign, even—she had respected both him and his family. Padmé glanced at Panaka's image, which had replaced the holojournalist on the screen, and tried, as she met his pixelated eyes, not to care, not to remember. But despite the rift that now separated them, politically and otherwise, she still found herself relieved—inexplicably so—that he was alive.

"Friend of yours?"

Rex's voice grated like gravel against her ears, and Padmé, now torn from her reverie, glanced in his direction and nodded. "I suppose you could say that," she agreed quietly. "He served as my captain of security while I was Queen of Naboo. But now…"

"Now, he's an Imperial moff," Rex finished, gesturing in the direction of the holoscreen.

"It's strange," Padmé murmured. She propped her chin in her hands and blinked down at the caf-stained carpet. "I should hate him for betraying me, for keeping me from rescuing my family on Naboo. But there's some part of me that can't…can't let him go, I suppose."

"And her? If you had to, could you let _her_ go?"

Padmé looked up. An opulent ballroom now shimmered on the holoscreen in Panaka's stead, and it didn't take her long to recognize the young woman in the golden gown. Ahsoka Tano sat poised on her throne, somehow maintaining her dignity even with Anakin positioned beside her. "No," Padmé admitted, guilt curling deep in her stomach. "No, I don't think I could."

A message near the bottom of the screen read that the feeds were a recap, but Padmé watched intently regardless, desperate to glean as much information as possible about Ahsoka and her wellbeing—or lack thereof. Before she could get too far, however, the shot switched to an image of a handsome, dark-haired family, arranged in two rows of two at the bottom of the emperor's dais. It took Padmé only a second to recognize the elder man; the crown that glinted upon his head made his status painstakingly clear. It wasn't as if it were a surprise—she had known he was Erosik's father, after all—but her heart still gave an anxious jolt.

Queen Amidala of Naboo had handled Crulius's monarch, King Seklio, on more than a few occasions. As they had first met after the Trade Federation's blockade, Padmé had not been intimidated by him nor by his planet's affluence, but he had still clearly looked down on her due to her youth and her failure to hail from the Core. Whenever she had hosted him at Theed Palace or visited his family on Crulius, it had taken all of her self-restraint not to concoct an excuse to swap places with Sabé. In short, she did not want that man anywhere near Ahsoka.

"How _is_ Commander Tano?" As if he had sensed her thoughts, Rex's voice sounded from across the room. Padmé angled a glance in his direction. "You said you were on the run together."

She grimaced, lowering her head to break his gaze. "It's a long story, Captain."

"You think I got anywhere to be?" Rex spread his arms wide, indicating the wreck of a room around him, and barked a throaty laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, Amidala."

"…Okay." The word escaped her lips before she had fully processed what it would mean, but Rex was already watching her expectantly and she couldn't revoke the promise now. So she told him. Ahsoka, captured on Mandalore and subsequently stripped of her memories; Anakin, wild with obsession and fear that warped him into a dictator; Padmé herself, trapped behind palace walls but still at work, determinedly knitting together the pieces of a fragile rebellion.

Rex closed his eyes about halfway through her tale, and he didn't open them again until long after she had finished. "I always wondered," he said at last. Each word ripped heavily from his tongue. "On the HoloNet, I mean. The commander. The 'princess'." He scowled as he made sharp air quotes with his fingers. "She'd do anything he told her to do, and she never even challenged him on his decisions. Not _once_. It was so unlike her—"

"Because it _wasn't_ her," Padmé finished. "I know."

Her last two words carried enough weight to pull them both into a lapse of silence. After a couple of seconds that lasted too long, Padmé looked away from Rex and watched the holoscreen through her eyelashes. Ahsoka was dancing with Erosik's brother Vivio, the crown prince of Crulius. Padmé had met him before, as well, albeit behind the mask of Amidala. At the time, she had just turned fifteen and the Trade Federation's invasion of Naboo had left her planet with fresh wounds. She had gone to Crulius to seek aid from its monarchy in the rebuilding of her homeworld. Instead, Crulian-Nabooian relations had frayed after Queen Amidala caught seventeen-year-old Prince Vivio making inappropriate advances toward one of her handmaidens—tiny, gentle, _twelve-year-old_ Saché, still scarred both physically and mentally by torture at the hands of the Trade Federation—and hit him across the face with her fan.

From that point on, Amidala and her council had decided to look to their own planet for the resources to heal Naboo, rather than place their trust in others. Still, Padmé had never forgotten nor forgiven Prince Vivio for how he had treated Saché. Her advisors may have scorned the incident as diplomatic suicide, but she had never been able to bring herself to regret it. Padmé Amidala protected her own. It was part of the reason she had been so repulsed by Ahsoka's betrothal to Prince Erosik. Though he had been a mere child of ten during that fateful visit to Crulius, he would later grow to mirror his older brother's disgusting sense of entitlement. And Anakin, the man she had once thought she loved, hadn't even _cared_.

She supposed she had been a fool for expecting him to.

Prince Vivio lunged suddenly forward, tossing Ahsoka into a dip so low that her back lek brushed against the floor. Padmé watched his lips move, watched Ahsoka pale uncharacteristically at whatever he said, and now she was on her feet, hand itching for a blaster or even for that fan. Of course she couldn't have done anything, not when he was lightyears away, and that made the relief even more acute as he finally released Ahsoka.

The next shot was a bird's-eye view of the ballroom. For a moment, all Padmé could see was a flood of crowns and tiaras, winking up at the ceiling from beneath the glow of a thousand chandeliers. With a roar of music and a swish of fabric, the dancers exploded into movement, distracting from Padmé's search for Ahsoka. Her eye caught instead on a gown sewn of a thousand shades of scarlet, each layer of fabric iridescent under the lights, and as its owner moved, the hues rippled in and out of existence, shifting from flame to wine red—

Padmé choked down a gasp as she scrambled to face Rex, thrusting out her open palms. "Captain! You must have a remote. Isn't there a way to pause it?"

His brow creased, but he shoved his hand between the couch cushions and tossed it to her. She instantly found the _pause_ button, even as he warned that the feed would resume in ten seconds. Besides, each citizen was only permitted to interrupt their holoscreen's programming three times a week at _most_. His words simply smeared into a lull of white noise. The scarlet gown was _definitely_ of Naboo design, betrayed both by its fine embroidery and its manipulation of light in breathtaking displays. What was more, the wearer had a hand to a young woman's shoulder—a _familiar_ young woman in an immaculate golden gown, so typical of Eirtaé's work or perhaps Yané's, with coils of diamonds and sapphires glittering against her lekku.

What was Ahsoka doing in the presence of Nabooian nobility?

The feeds skipped ahead as the ten-second pause came to an end, and— _"What?"_ Padmé gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth. She had to perform a double take to ensure that she had seen correctly. Sure enough, yet _another_ woman from Naboo, Princess Isé Sapphira of Theed, held Ahsoka's hand in hers. Surely this couldn't be mere coincidence, could it? Padmé raked an anxious hand through her curls. Anakin probably never would have made this connection—he didn't know enough about politics nor fashion on Naboo—but anyone loyal to Padmé's planet would have recognized Princess Sapphira in a heartbeat.

Before the Empire had risen to power, the title "Princess of Theed" had been considered the springboard to Naboo's monarchy. Padmé herself had served in that position prior to her reign, and toward the end of the Clone Wars, she had planned on endorsing Sapphira as her preferred candidate for the next Queen of Naboo. The princess's focus on peaceful resolutions and sentient rights had aligned with Padmé's own agenda, but what had most impressed the former queen was Isé Sapphira's unwillingness to remain silent. Throughout the Clone Wars, the Princess of Theed had been one of the few voices unafraid to criticize politicians, planetary and intergalactic alike, who chose to put themselves before their people.

On screen, Princess Sapphira's expression betrayed nothing, but a momentary flash of surprise sparked in Ahsoka's eyes, so briefly that Padmé would have missed it had she blinked. She sank slowly back into the armchair as the shot changed again, but this time, her attention wasn't on the holoscreen. Her mind was racing, weaving new scraps of information into strategy.

 _Captain Panaka. Princess Sapphira. She couldn't trust Queen Kylantha, but maybe—_

"I think I have a plan," Padmé whispered. "Captain, I have to get back to Naboo."

* * *

About a year ago, a few days after the rise of the Galactic Empire, Sabé had received a messenger at her door who demanded her immediate presence on Coruscant. As she learned upon her arrival, the same directive had been sent to Yané, Eirtaé, Rabé, and all of the women who had assisted Padmé Amidala at some point during her senatorial career. Instead of kidnapping girls who resembled the empress, as Vader had done in his "recruitment" of the Princess Ahsoka's handmaidens, he had simply conscripted anyone who had once been in Padmé's service. Only Saché, because of her political status on Naboo, was exempted, though she still hadn't been able to extract her girlfriend Yané from the Empire's clutches.

Vader could not have known what a mistake he was making.

Even at the dawn of the Empire, Padmé Amidala's handmaidens had already had a crucial advantage, one that Ahsoka Tano's lacked: they knew how to speak with eyes instead of words, how to look away while still listening in, and, most importantly, how to read each other with a single glance. Years ago, as they had gone their separate ways, they had still been knit together by a fierce loyalty to their former queen, and this was even truer now that they had been reunited. Vader had assumed they would behave as the princess's handmaidens had: unbalanced in their inexperience, clueless as to what their new jobs would entail, and resentful at the thought of the lives they should have had. The empress's handmaidens nursed their own fair share of anger at dreams lost and lives stolen, but they were better trained at masking it, and they knew how to make use of their rage rather than let it drown them.

Sabé sat, threading a needle through a swath of buttercup yellow satin, as Eirtaé scratched out a dress design beside her. They were in one of the smaller, unused ballrooms, its lighting dim and its floor crisscrossed with worn wood, though the wrought-iron chandeliers, elegant wainscoting, and grand piano still preserved a sense of archaic prestige. Sabé supposed that, when the palace had once been the Jedi Temple, this room had served as a sparring chamber or something of the kind. It had been Lahnya who had rediscovered it, sifting through the holofeeds of over a dozen obscure palace locations. Ever since then, the room had become a sort of refuge for the handmaidens aligned with Padmé's cause.

Before her death, Lahnya had disabled the room's holocameras, but now that Vader had interrogated her and discovered her computer prowess, Sabé couldn't be sure that the emperor's spies weren't listening in on them. She made another stitch in the fabric and inflected a casually conversational tone. "Were you at the ball the other night?"

Eirtaé leaned closer to her design, scrutinizing it with an artist's eye, and a curtain of blonde tumbled in to hide her face from view. "Yes. I was. I think _everyone_ was, in fact."

Only the most trained ear would have picked up on the snideness in her voice, and Sabé pursed her lips to keep from barking a laugh. As she remembered the purpose of their conversation, however, solemnity chased away any remnants of amusement, and she straightened her posture. "So I presume you heard the princess's speech."

Eirtaé paused for a moment before looking up at her with wide eyes, like when she wore the mask of the clueless, bubbly blonde. "I thought it was…very sweet, what she said about her fiancé." Sabé could tell that she was choosing her words carefully. "Rabé and I assisted her in preparing for the ball beforehand. She was…rather distraught."

Sabé frowned at the unfinished gown in her lap. "Distraught?"

"Yes. Miré assumed it had something to do with her betrothed's death—"

"I might have thought the same thing."

Sabé kept her tone mild, but she could tell from one glance at the girl next to her that the message had gotten across. _You don't trust her?_ Eirtaé's eyes demanded.

Sabé gave her head a terse shake, looping the needle through the bodice of the gown. After a moment thick with tension, Eirtaé nudged her and dropped her design into Sabé's lap. "What do you think of this?" she asked, tapping her pencil lightly against the paper. The gown she had sketched reminded Sabé vaguely of Padmé's lakeside ensemble, with a pale pink bodice that faded into flowing, lavender skirts. "The emperor wanted something _romantic,_ but I'm still not sure that the _princess_ is going to take a liking to it."

Sabé shot her a charged look. She recognized that Eirtaé was siding with Ahsoka Tano, and given that she had spent more time around her recently than Sabé had, perhaps she should take her word for it. But she needed Eirtaé to understand her point of view, as well. "It's fine," she said with a shrug, handing back the design and refocusing on the incomplete gown. "By the way," she added, "what do you think of the royal family of Crulius?"

They both knew Eirtaé couldn't say anything outwardly negative without risking a charge of sedition, but her calculated "I don't know enough about them" spoke to her disapproval.

"I suppose that's true," Sabé granted, all the while keeping her eyes pinned to her lap. She ran another delicate stitch through the bodice, then another. "But the planet is rather wealthy, isn't it? To think, all of those riches will one day go to Prince Vivio and his wife…"

Beside her, Eirtaé made an almost choked sound of surprise, letting her mask drop for just one second before sliding it back into place. When Sabé shot a glance in her direction, Eirtaé's lips parted, the movement almost too slight to read. _He's nearly twice her age!_

Sabé shrugged and stabbed the needle through the satin almost violently. She had only ever trusted Tano because Padmé did. But Padmé wasn't here now, and especially after the princess's traitorous speech, paired with her tears at the funeral, Sabé wouldn't put her above marrying into power. Queen of Crulius was a rather lofty title, after all.

"Sabé?" She turned at the sound of Eirtaé's voice and arched one eyebrow in silent inquiry. "Here…what do you think of _this?_ Does that look any better?"

Sabé accepted the design from Eirtaé's hands, scanning it for changes before realizing that she had been completely missing the point. At the bottom of the page, printed so lightly that she could hardly make them out, were seven treacherous words:

 _Are you still in touch with Saché?_

Sabé hesitated. She had contacts in all of the right places, thanks to her days as royal decoy, Tatooinian spy, and even Imperial handmaiden. Eirtaé had her visual art, Rabé had her music, Lahnya had once had her computer science; in the same way, Sabé had her webs of contacts, and everyone in Padmé's orbit—particularly the former queen's handmaidens—knew it. After all, it had been Sabé's correspondance with Captain Tonra, whom Vader had transferred to Chandrila to protect its new royal family, that had earned Padmé an audience with the planet's rebel leader, Senator Mon Mothma, all of those months ago.

Sabé's heart stuck in her throat at an unbidden memory. She had once trusted Ahsoka Tano, or had at least trusted Padmé not to rely on her without good cause, and she could recall explaining to her Tonra's involvement in the Rebellion. It had been immediately after he had admitted them into the Chandrilan base, and Tano had noted that Sabé and Tonra already knew each other. They had more than _known_ each other, Sabé had thought, but she had thankfully kept that detail to herself. Still, if she could go back and keep from emitting a single syllable, she would. As it was, if the Imperial princess were to spill any information about Tonra to her precious emperor, Force help her, because Sabé might just—

She grew suddenly aware of Eirtaé's pressing gaze and reminded herself of the question at hand. _Saché._ Sabé hardly ever got the chance to speak to her anymore—it was too risky, and besides, Saché was busy with her role as a royal advisor—but when she did manage to make contact, she was always rewarded with hauls of intelligence about Naboo's new puppet queen. At last, Sabé nodded succinctly in the affirmative. "You really think so?" Eirtaé replied fretfully. "I'm not sure it does…" She twirled her pencil around and scrubbed at the design with an eraser, frowning in ostensible indecision as she destroyed any evidence of her query.

Sabé returned her gaze to the gown, waiting for Eirtaé to convey her desired message for Saché, as was the custom. Sure enough, after a few minutes of sketching and stitching, Eirtaé added, "Speaking of the ball, did you notice Princess Renée Clarina?"

"Of Keren?" Sabé remembered. She tended to keep tabs on these things. "No, I didn't."

"Oh. Well, she was wearing an absolutely _gorgeous_ gown—cream underskirt with scarlet satin layered overtop, and stunning embroidery—and I thought maybe I could use it as inspiration…"

The next few sentences were simply cover story for the cameras, and so Sabé spent the time unpacking Eirtaé's true message. Clearly, she wanted Saché to keep an eye on Clarina once the princess returned to Naboo. _Why,_ however, she had yet to say.

"…Anyway, I would have spoken with her and asked who designed her outfit, but by the time I reached the princess, she was already busy talking with someone else." As she spoke, Eirtaé absentmindedly tapped her pencil against her design. Any ordinary onlooker could have been fooled into believing it a habit. Sabé was not any ordinary onlooker.

The model onto which Eirtaé had sketched her design shared Tano's lekku, facial markings, and large, long-lashed eyes. Instantly, Sabé knew who the "someone else" had been, and the connotations of her new knowledge tumbled into place. Naboo prided itself on its democratic tradition, and Sabé would not have been surprised if its princesses—whom Vader had left in power upon his rise to the throne, out of the belief that their positions were mostly ceremonial—were looking to join a revolutionary movement against the Empire. Padmé, of course, would have been the best choice of ally in such a scenario, but Sabé supposed that the Princess Ahsoka, after her show of rebellion on the balcony, had seemed the next best option.

Had the two princesses been conspiring together under the guise of polite chatter? Clearly that was what Eirtaé suspected, and she wanted a piece of the action. First, however, Sabé would have to send Saché to Keren to find out exactly what was going on. If Clarina turned out to be loyal to a revolutionary cause, chances were that Tano felt the same, and her ostensible obedience to the emperor had simply been a mask. Sabé, of all people, knew a thing or two about that. Perhaps Eirtaé was right, and she _had_ misjudged her….

A pair of doors clattered open, and both Sabé and Eirtaé jolted to their feet out of habit. As she saw that it was only Yané in the threshold, Sabé's heart rate calmed before she realized it had spiked in the first place. "I thought you might have been in here," Yané said at last. Her voice carried a strangely somber note. "Emperor Vader is looking for you, Sabé."

Instantly, her heart rate shot back up, twice as fast as it had been before. "Wh-what?"

Yané dipped her head into a stiff, almost insouciant nod, but Sabé could still read on her face what they were all thinking: _This was how it had started for Lahnya._ "We'll go with her," Eirtaé said suddenly, grasping onto Sabé's arm. "Won't we, Ya—"

"No." As much as it pained her to do so, Sabé shook off Eirtaé's grip. "Absolutely not. He asked for _me_. I'm not dragging the rest of you into this."

Eirtaé's eyes swam with regret, but nonetheless, she gave a small nod of understanding. "I could use you in the guest wing, Eirtaé," Yané offered, but Sabé couldn't fight the suspicion that it was only to distract her. "You'll keep me out of trouble with King Seklio."

Despite the solemnity of the situation, Sabé had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. "Yané! That was you?" She sighed. "I suppose I should have known…"

"We _are_ brave, Your Highness." Eirtaé's words, threaded with a hint of cynicism, pulled them all nonetheless into a contemplative silence. For the first time, Sabé fully understood the truth hidden in their old code phrase. They _were_ brave. Brave enough to take on the Trade Federation, or to face down a king…or even to survive an encounter with the emperor.

She let the sentiment strengthen her as she swept past Yané and Eirtaé. Better to turn herself in now, she reasoned. If she resisted, it would be even more obvious that she had something to hide. "Sabé," Yané called after her as she left, "you'll come join us when you're done?"

That kind of wishful thinking was almost unbearable, but Sabé nodded anyway. Let them hope. Hope had sustained them through the occupation of their planet, through countless attempts on their queen's life, through the rise of the Empire and the collapse of democracy. Hope drove rebellion. Hope drove _change_. And anyway, with or without it, Sabé wasn't dead yet.

* * *

"…Love her?"

 _"_ _Love_ her? Tell me you're not serious. Love's not the _point_. She's got everything I want: youth, beauty, connections to power. That's close enough to love, don't you think? I've been looking for someone with such influential family ties since long before the Empire."

"Young man, need I remind you that the Empire has existed for hundreds of _years—"_

"Right, right. Of course I know _that_. But as I was saying—"

Ahsoka strode into the classroom before Vivio could continue, and he trailed off as he took her in. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of fear cross his eyes, but he quickly banished it with a grin that she found unsettling. "Princess, you look stunning," he said, indicating her outfit. Today, she wore a pale pink gown with layers of white lace overtop, accentuated with strands of pearls and a matching tiara. "Why don't you come and sit down?"

She remained where she was. "Dormé and Lyria deserve most of the credit, Prince Vivio," Ahsoka corrected him. She realized, upon gesturing to the two handmaidens behind her, that she had deepened her voice to match Padmé's formal tone. "They were the ones who designed the gown and selected the jewellery from the royal treasury."

Vivio nodded, but Ahsoka could tell he was already growing bored with this conversation. She locked eyes with him and let an aloof mask settle over her features, which appeared to agitate him even further. "Your Imperial Highness," her tutor, Mr. Kadal, intervened, "if you would _please_ sit down so that we can commence, it would be much appreciated."

Ahsoka broke her gaze from Vivio's and shot Kadal an overly sweet smile, smoothing her skirts beneath her as she sat behind the nearest desk. She hadn't seen the royal tutor since before her escape from the palace, and she noted that he had grown both a beard and a few more grey hairs since then. Ahsoka was still clutching the schedule Lyria had delivered to her suite that morning, and she smoothed it out on the desk in front of her. In all honesty, she had nearly laughed upon noticing the blocks of time set aside for _lessons_. Erosik's family was to believe that education—not imprisonment and torture—comprised her normal routine.

Erosik's funeral had run too late last night for her to pay a visit to Aedlyna's chambers, and now it seemed Vader was conveniently trying to busy her with tutoring sessions. According to her schedule, however, she would be afforded a ten minute break at 10.00 hours, enough time for her to "check in" on Aedlyna—assuming Prince Vivio didn't try to get in her way.

She wasn't sure why Vivio was even here, though she assumed he had come to hover and stare at her like his creepy brother had done. Strangely enough, though, the handmaidens at her back lent her bravery she otherwise might not have had. "We will be starting on page 51, Princess," Kadal announced, and Ahsoka fell into the old rhythm with startling ease. She retrieved the correct holobook from Dormé and switched it on.

She nearly groaned as she saw he would be lecturing on the unit circle, the same topic they had studied for the entire two weeks leading up to her escape. Ahsoka had long been ready to move on to calculus, but Kadal, who was paid to think she was stupid, had insisted that couldn't _possibly_ be the case. Outside of class, therefore, Ahsoka had taught herself how to find derivatives, and she had proved the power rule all on her own in under three minutes. But if Vader claimed she was incapable in academic fields, then that was what her tutors would believe, too, no matter how much evidence she gave to the contrary.

Kadal's lecture droned on for about half an hour, and then he deposited a worksheet and a pencil on her desk. Ahsoka had just begun the first problem when Vivio and his chair materialized next to her. Without bothering to ask for permission, he looped an arm around her waist and leaned too close for comfort, whispering advice that was obviously wrong. Ahsoka shrugged off his grasp and worked through the problem her own way. It was almost painfully simple, and she fought back a scoff at how Vivio had tried to overcomplicate it.

"Do you have an answer yet to the first problem, Princess?"

"Yes." At this point, in fact, she was already on the _fifth_ problem. She glanced up at the first one and re-familiarized herself with it. "At pi over four, our ordered pair is radical two over two comma radical two over two. Therefore, eleven pi over four would give us an ordered pair of _negative_ radical two over two comma radical two over two. As we are in the second quadrant of the graph, we would have a negative x value, but our y value would remain positive."

"Correct. But next time, Your Highness, don't attempt to take credit for the prince's work."

Ahsoka gasped and opened her mouth to protest, but she knew that anything she had to say would go unheard. She glanced over her shoulder at Dormé, whose normally stoic expression had slipped into a slight frown. As Ahsoka turned back to her worksheet, lekku burning in unwarranted humiliation, she felt the fleeting weight of a supportive hand on her shoulder.

After another hour and a half of this misery—though, as far as Ahsoka was concerned, it could have easily been a decade—the chronometer finally read 10.00. Kadal dismissed her for a break prior to her literature lesson, and she dashed out of the classroom before Vivio could thwart her plans. Dormé followed close at her heels, and even though she hadn't requested it, Ahsoka found herself grateful for the handmaiden's presence. If nothing else, it meant that Vivio couldn't join her under the guise of keeping her company.

Ahsoka and Dormé glided past a few clusters of servants, but they didn't encounter any significant resistance until the security guard at Aedlyna's doorway. Ahsoka cleared her throat and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. "Would you deliver a message to Princess Aedlyna"—she articulated the words as regally as possible, even as they chilled her with a sense of impostor syndrome—"that Her Imperial Highness wishes to speak with her at once?"

He narrowed his eyes, almost infinitesimally, but she didn't miss the gesture nor the skeptical tone that accompanied it. "And what exactly would you wish to tell her, Your Highness?"

"Simply my condolences for her brother's death. I assume this shouldn't be too much of a problem—unless, of course, you believe your Imperial princess to be a security threat?"

His shoulders hitched with a contemplative breath before he stepped to the side. The doors opened into a marble receiving chamber, but Ahsoka bypassed the settee sofas for the next entryway, rapping her fist against the Glee Anselm hardwood. A girl appeared in a flash of blonde hair and beige fabric, and after a moment of disorientation, Ahsoka recognized her as Eirtaé. The handmaiden's eyes flicked immediately to Dormé; Ahsoka only captured Eirtaé's gaze in the second before the doors clattered shut in her face.

She wheeled around to face Dormé in bewilderment, but the brunette shook her head and mouthed, _"Just wait."_ Sure enough, Eirtaé reappeared in the threshold a few moments later. "Her Royal Highness grants you admission to her chambers, Princess."

Ahsoka nodded and followed Eirtaé past the doorway, Dormé hovering only a few steps behind her. Princess Aedlyna awaited them on a velvet sofa, her eyes closed and her lips pursed into a delicate frown. Behind her, a handmaiden—a brunette whom Ahsoka vaguely recognized—coursed her fingers nimbly over Aedlyna's hair, braiding it with strands of emeralds.

Aedlyna waited almost exactly ten seconds to address Ahsoka's presence. "Take a seat, Princess," she said at last, her eyes still closed and her tone far off.

Ahsoka slipped onto the sofa across from Aedlyna's, running her eyes over the sitting chamber for the fifth time. She noted a few built-in shelves and the drawer of an ornately carved desk, but she couldn't yet pinpoint definitively where Aedlyna stored her comlink. "The accomodations are lovely," the Crulian princess said suddenly, both startling Ahsoka's heart rate and cutting off her train of thought. When she glanced back at Aedlyna, she saw that the princess was watching her through Erosik's dark, intent eyes. "You and your brother have been most hospitable."

"How much longer are you and your family planning to stay?" Ahsoka prodded.

Aedlyna sighed and lifted her shoulders into a shrug. "I shouldn't know. My mother and father are still negotiating a contract with the emperor, so I presume it will be quite some time."

 _Quite some time._ That meant she would be bound by Vader's Sith magic for even longer than he had led her to believe. Ahsoka's first instinct, however immature, was to bury her head in her hands and scream—until Aedlyna's words replayed in her mind. _"Contract?"_

"Yes." Aedlyna didn't offer up any more details, and Ahsoka stiffened, her heart already heavy in her chest. She knew Vader had suggested strengthening the Crulius-Imperial alliance, but Aedlyna's reticence on the subject rattled her. If this were simply another strategic partnership, why wouldn't she just say so? It had to be something more.

The handmaiden finished with Aedlyna's hair, tying off the last of her dark tresses with a clear elastic. She stood and paced back and forth across the living chamber, a deep green train of satin slithering in her wake. At last, she stopped and met Ahsoka's eyes, lips pressed taut in a seemingly permanent frown. "Did you ever actually love my brother, Princess?"

Ahsoka swallowed hard, but the lie still slipped easily from her tongue. "Of…of course."

"Erosik was not a very good person." Aedlyna stated this as plain fact. If she was bothered by it, she gave no indication. "That is just the way it is for some of us."

"It shouldn't be," Ahsoka said before she could help herself.

Aedlyna fixed stony eyes upon her. Then she covered her mouth to stifle an unexpected giggle, albeit a hollow one. "You are so unlike your brother. Far too idealistic."

For reasons unknown, Ahsoka's stomach gave a quick jerk, so she steered the conversation back in the direction she needed it to go. "While we're talking, Princess Aedlyna, would you like some tea?" she offered as politely as she could. "If you have a comlink I could borrow for a moment, I'll call and ask if someone could deliver it to your suite."

Aedlyna tilted her head to the side, as if in confusion, and then centred her gaze on Eirtaé. "You. Run down to the kitchen and fetch some tea for the Imperial princess." She turned her dark eyes on Ahsoka. "What flavour do you prefer? Tarine? Deychin?"

"Um…" Ahsoka glanced apologetically in Eirtaé's direction. She hadn't meant to make more work for her; honestly, she didn't even enjoy tea. "I don't mind either way, but—"

"We'll take Deychin, then," Aedlyna said, waving a flippant hand toward the doors. Eirtaé met Ahsoka's eyes, nodded once, and slipped past the threshold. Ahsoka was left staring at the spot the handmaiden had last occupied when Aedlyna added, "Are you and your brother close?"

Ahsoka froze. Her skin crawled with the keen sense that Aedlyna was interrogating her, though why, she had no way of knowing. The Crulian princess—unlike the rest of her family—hid her motives behind cunningly nonchalant features, rendering Ahsoka clueless as to what to say or how to outwit her. "We _are_ …," she answered cautiously.

"I figured as much." Aedlyna returned to the sofa, clasping her hands in her lap as she sat. "Have you ever been off planet without him? Other than during your kidnapping, of course."

"No," Ahsoka replied honestly. Not that she could remember, at least.

"I imagine he would be reluctant to let you too far out of his grasp. Especially now that you have suffered abduction, one might assume he would grow even _more_ protective…"

The doors scraped open and Ahsoka shot around. The first pair of eyes to meet hers beamed a deep blue, and Ahsoka scowled as she ripped her gaze down to her lap. "Commander Offee," she muttered, managing to not _quite_ sound facetious, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Your own tardiness, I'm afraid, Your Highness." The voice—decidedly _not_ Offee's—sent a wave of goosebumps skittering down Ahsoka's arms. She reached for the scarred tissue that branded her left forearm, realized what she was doing, and forced herself to withdraw her hand.

"Grand Moff Tarkin," she said as she rose to her feet. She felt slightly better as Dormé moved to stand at her back. Even though Padmé was no longer at the palace, their friendship seemed to have won Ahsoka the loyalty—or at least protection—of a few of the empress's handmaidens.

"Princess, you will come with me. You are six minutes and…thirty- _two_ seconds late to your literature lesson. Ms. Limaya and Prince Vivio have been concerned as to your wellbeing."

"For Force's sake," Ahsoka grumbled so that only Dormé could hear. Six _minutes_. Six!

But she had to pick her battles, so she followed Offee and Tarkin anyway, exchanging only the briefest of nods with Aedlyna before disappearing from her sight. She had neglected—again—to get the comlink, and her lekku burned with the weight of her failure. She supposed she could target Vivio next, but she didn't want to spend any more time around him than she had to.

Tarkin, mercifully for once, waited at least a few seconds before addressing her again. "Next time, Princess, I would advise you not to let social visits impede your education."

Ahsoka stopped dead in her tracks. "Really," she said, and couldn't help the derisive laugh that escaped her lips, nor the bitterness that edged into her tone. "You didn't seem to mind 'impeding my education' when you sliced open my left arm as punishment for trying to _write."_

Commander Offee produced an uncharacteristic gasp, but Ahsoka couldn't tell if it was due to her accusation or because Tarkin had seized her by the chin. "It was the _rebels_ who gave you that scar, foolish girl," he spat. Ahsoka tensed but ignored him all the same, staring resolutely past his left shoulder so that she and Dormé locked eyes. The handmaiden had already thrown back her shoulders as if in preparation for a fight, and Ahsoka shook her head _no_ as best she could. Wilhuff Tarkin wasn't worth it. Dormé pursed her lips together, but before a scene could erupt, Offee grasped one of Tarkin's shoulders and pulled him off of Ahsoka.

"What are you _doing?"_ she demanded, her cheeks flushed. "She is the _princess."_

Tarkin threw a disdainful look at Ahsoka over his shoulder but said nothing. As the four of them continued their trek to the classroom, it became apparent that their brief skirmish had condemned the rest of the journey to silence. With a start, Ahsoka remembered Eirtaé and almost froze in place. She had not yet returned when Offee and Tarkin had appeared in Aedlyna's threshold. Hopefully the Crulian princess enjoyed Deychin tea.

When Ahsoka eventually appeared in the literature classroom, Ms. Limaya clasped her hands over her heart as if she had truly been worried, and Vivio, without warning nor consent, took her in his arms, kissed her on the forehead, and said, "Princess, don't _scare_ us like that."

Ahsoka found the chrono on the wall and began the tedious countdown to her next break.

Her wish was granted at 12.00 hours, when she received sixty minutes of refuge in her chambers prior to her so-called "history" lesson. Only Dormé and Lyria were permitted to accompany her upstairs, which made it even better. As soon as the doors shut behind her, Ahsoka flung off her heels and collapsed onto her bed. It had been a few days now since she had slept, and her eyes fluttered closed before she could help it. It felt as if she could melt into the silken sheets beneath her and sink toward the centre of the planet, simultaneously pulled and crushed by exhaustion. She didn't even think she would mind….

Her hand brushed up against a mass of embroidered fabric. By some miracle, the sensation proved enough of a stimulus to coax her from her trance. _It isn't worth it,_ she told herself, even as her body groaned in protest as she sat up. _Nothing is worth my memories._ Groggily, she eyed the heap of fabric, if only to distract herself from her fatigue. It was not a blanket or quilt, as she might have expected, but a recently finished gown, sewn of yellow satin that shimmered in the early afternoon light. Ahsoka hefted the garment into her arms—stars, it was at least ten times heavier than it looked!—and shook out the skirts, but before she could call over Dormé or Lyria to inspect it, a miniscule object tumbled out onto her bed.

Her exhaustion instantly vanished.

She dropped the gown and, hands visibly trembling, yanked shut the curtains of her bed. Finally, once she felt she had obtained adequate privacy, she placed the object delicately in her cupped palm. She had known what it was—or had at least _hoped_ she knew—as soon as she had seen the flash of silver. But now that she could confirm her suspicions, she felt like she had just recovered her breath after a plunge underwater, choked with unspeakable relief.

Here was her key to contacting Princess Isé, and to sparking change of her own.

Ahsoka's reprieve waned, however, as the logistics of her situation dawned on her. She may have had a comlink now, but it hadn't appeared in her chambers all on its own. Two questions still remained: Who was her anonymous ally, and how had they _known?_

Worse yet, how could she be sure they were an ally at all?

* * *

 **Nameless: Wow, thank you so much! No worries, your review came through. :) I believe you were right in your suspicions about who Padmé encountered on Sullust. ;) Also, yes, I would have loved to include Satine in this story, but given that Maul killed her in Season 5, I could not. :( (I am doing my best to hold true to canon up to Order 66.) I did include R2-D2 in a few chapters (I don't know if you remember, but he came to Ilum with Ahsoka) and I am planning to bring him back into the story, I just haven't had a chance yet. :) Also, feminism is simply the belief that men and women are equal and therefore deserve equal rights. If you would like more information, I highly recommend _We Should All Be Feminists_ by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (there is also a TED Talk) and/or _Girl Up_ by Laura Bates. Both are wonderful reads. :D Again, thank you so much for your kind review, it made my day! :D**

 **bluelily42: Thank you so much for your kind words, I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying it! :D I have enjoyed your stories, as well. Sorry for the late update!**

 **Thanks for all of the support, everyone! If you have feedback or just want to gush about _Queen's Shadow_ or the new _Clone Wars_ trailer, feel free to leave an (always much appreciated) review. ;)**

 **-Isabelle**


	28. Chapter 28

**Hi, everyone, it's Isabelle here! I apologize for the late update, but thanks for all of your patience. Here is a quick reminder of what happened in the last chapter: Padmé met Captain Rex on Sullust and created a plan for rescuing Ahsoka and the twins, though she first has to get to the Naboo system; Sabé, who currently is suspicious of Ahsoka's loyalty to the Rebellion, was summoned by Emperor Vader; and Ahsoka found that an unknown ally (?) left her a comlink in her chambers, somehow having known that she needed one.**

 **Also, as some of you may remember, I have recently been in the process of editing previous chapters, and I have now made it up through Chapter 10. Again, I have not really been changing any of the content, just improving the writing style and adding some extra details here and there, so it is not necessary to read the updated versions. However, I am reintroducing an original character into this chapter whom we have not heard from in awhile, so if you would like to remind yourself of who she is and why she is important, I would recommend skimming through Chapters 8, 9, and/or 10 again.**

 **As you all know, I do not own Star Wars, and I will answer all reviews at the end. Thanks again for your support, and enjoy the next chapter! :)**

* * *

"Are you sure you can handle everything on your own, Your Highness?"

"Yes, of course." Ahsoka held the comlink at her side in a clenched fist. The metal was already slick with sweat against her palm. "I'm just going to run a quick bath, that's all. I could use a moment of relaxation after this past week's excitement, don't you think?"

"Just remember that your history lesson begins at thirteen hundred hours," Lyria said. Behind her, Dormé shuffled around Ahsoka's vanity, reorganizing perfume bottles and eyeshadow palettes that had already been perfectly displayed. Almost as if…as if to avoid the conversation, to let Ahsoka do whatever necessary without any questions asked.

Ahsoka tried to remember if Padmé had ever floated Dormé's name while listing off her allies. Then again, it wasn't as though she could remember much of anything these days.

"I'll be quick," she promised Lyria, sweeping into the refresher and shutting the door behind her. Ahsoka cranked the tap and steamy water gushed from the faucet, beating loudly enough against the basin of the bathtub to swallow all other noise. She knelt to the ground, lacy skirts pooling around her, and lifted her fingers to reveal the comlink in her palm.

Ahsoka keyed in Isé Sapphira's frequency and startled when she received an almost immediate response. Within seconds, in fact, the Princess of Theed had burst from the comlink in holographic form, clothed in a multi-layered gown of white and royal blue. Her black hair fanned out behind her, secured in place by an elaborate headdress typical of Naboo's royalty.

"I was hoping that might be you, Princess," said Isé Sapphira under her breath, stealing a glance over her shoulder as if to ensure that she was alone.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness. I had trouble acquiring a comlink. And please, just call me Ahsoka."

A weary smile crinkled the corners of Princess Isé's lips. "Only if you call me Isé."

"Fair enough." Ahsoka leaned her head against the wall and pulled her knees to her chest. "Listen, before we get started, I have to ask…do you know anything about Padmé?"

Her heart sank as Isé's face fell, even though she knew she shouldn't have been surprised. "I wish I did, but I know just as much as you do. No one on Naboo has seen Empress Amidala since the Naberrie family was murdered, though Queen Kylantha and her troops are certainly still looking." She restored eye contact with Ahsoka and added, "I reached out to you because I couldn't trust our new puppet queen. Can I trust _you,_ Ahsoka?"

"Of course," she breathed at once.

Isé gave a single, succinct nod and reached toward the camera, turning her wrist as if to adjust a dial. A moment later, another hologram flickered to life beside hers: a young woman with sparkling green eyes and a mane of blonde hair, dressed rather plainly in comparison to Isé's Nabooian regalia. Princess Nadila of Chandrila winked at Ahsoka and announced, as grandly as she could in a hushed tone, "Nadila Caarino here. Miss me, Princess?"

Ahsoka stared for a moment, stunned. It felt like a lifetime since she and Padmé had travelled to Chandrila and witnessed the destruction of the rebels' base, forced to fight for their lives alongside Princess Nadila and Countess Emalina. "Nadila, were you…listening in?"

"Princess Nadila and I met at one of Queen Kylantha's most recent balls," Isé explained diplomatically, though a hint of disgust crept into her tone at the obligatory mention of Naboo's new queen. "I extended her an invitation much like the one I granted you."

"I heard you've been raising hell back on Coruscant, Princess." Nadila crossed her arms over her chest and offered a lopsided grin. "That stunt on the balcony? My father saw it on the HoloNet and shattered his wine glass against the wall. It was glorious."

Ahsoka swallowed hard. Glorious as it may have been, none of it had saved Lahnya. She shook her head and pulled herself to her feet to check on the bathtub. It was already halfway full; she wouldn't be able to stay on the call for much longer, and they hadn't accomplished anything yet. "I'm flattered, Nadila, but we should get down to business now."

"I agree." Isé clasped her hands together, every bit the regal princess of Naboo. Ironic, Ahsoka realized, that none of them had been born royalty, though Isé carried herself with such poise that she just as easily could have been. "Ahsoka, my first priority is to break you and the empress's children out of the Imperial Palace. From there—assuming that you are willing, of course—you would become the face of our movement. We'll need the rest of the galaxy on our side to topple the emperor, but first they need to understand why he must _be_ toppled."

 _"_ _Movement?"_ Ahsoka repeated, testing the word in her mouth.

"We can't hope to destroy the emperor's régime with violence. His forces are far too strong, and any attack on our part would give him the justification he needs to annihilate us. Yet if we encourage the rest of the galaxy to stand with us—to engage in acts of civil disobedience, to refuse the rule of a dictator—that could prove a far more potent weapon."

 _"_ _What?"_ Nadila demanded, green eyes blazing with a sudden crash of anger. "You've got to be kidding. What you're suggesting would take years, Sapphira. Maybe even _decades_. Wasn't the plan to get vengeance on Vader? He bombed the life out of my planet and threw a _party_ to celebrate. You expect a man like that to stand by and let the people conduct peaceful protests? He'll send his troops in, guns a-blazing, and slaughter us without batting an eyelash."

"Blood will have to be shed at some point," Isé replied calmly, but Ahsoka didn't miss the rapid flash of sorrow that crossed her features. "Wouldn't you prefer that we fight for the return of our Republic using moral means, rather than lower ourselves to the emperor's standards?"

"Would I _prefer_ that? No. Not really, to be honest." Nadila raked a hand through her long hair, shoving it out of her eyes as she glanced at Ahsoka. "And you? What do you think?"

She opened her mouth to respond but came up short on words. After all Vader had done to her—tormenting her, hunting her across the galaxy, stripping her of even a basic sense of identity—her first instinct was to side with Nadila. But as she remembered Padmé and the miraculous ways she could spin words into inspiration, Ahsoka understood that peaceful protests—rooted in core belief systems rather than in isolated instances of action—would prove more difficult for the emperor to snuff out. "I'm open to whatever strategy protects the most innocent lives."

Isé simply closed her eyes and nodded. "Peacefully, then," she said. Nadila arched an eyebrow and opened her mouth, presumably to give voice to her skepticism, but a sharp knock on the doors had Ahsoka immediately on the ground, crouching behind the bathtub for cover.

"I have to go," she hissed, cutting the transmission before Isé or Nadila could say anything else.

She heard the telltale whine of an opening door and bolted back to her feet, comlink tucked out of sight in her fist. Lyria emerged from behind the hardwood, tiny against the colossal threshold, and gave a quick curtsy. "Your Imperial Highness, I'm sorry to disturb you, but…Emperor Vader has summoned you to the throne room. Effective immediately."

For an instant, all surrounding sound—the roar of the bathwater, the gurgling of a nearby fountain, the fans that blasted overhead—melted into a high-pitched ringing that weakened Ahsoka's knees and knocked her off balance. She managed to catch herself against the tub and blinked down at her reflection, distorted by the rippling bathwater. _No. Not—Already?_

Already. He had _already_ caught her. Force, _why_ had she used a comlink gifted to her by a stranger? A trap—it had been a _trap_. Of course it had been! He had laid the bait, and she had taken it with hardly a second thought, guileless and ignorant in her desperation.

 _When?_ When would she learn to listen to her head instead of her—

"Princess?" With an almost labourious effort, Ahsoka dragged herself upright, somehow remembered to shut off the faucet, and forced her legs to follow Lyria into the bedroom. Dormé was nowhere to be seen. Lyria bustled over with the yellow gown—the same one that had concealed a comlink in its satin folds—but it wasn't until Ahsoka had slipped off the lace dress that she realized she had no idea why she was changing in the first place.

She asked. Weren't you listening, Lyria demanded, but Ahsoka said no. Lyria sighed and stuck a pin into the satin, tightening the waist of the gown. The pink dress had been too informal for an audience with the emperor, she said, particularly one of such significance.

 _Significance._ So Vader wanted Ahsoka all dressed up for her execution, did he? Fine. She'd march to her death a martyr, she supposed, with a sunny gown and a sunny smile, and the next day, when the sun inevitably rose, it might bring a rebellion along with it.

* * *

Ahsoka expected to find the doors to the throne room flung wide open, Vader perched high atop the dais so as to better instill fear. Instead, the doors had been nestled shut, and the emperor—unaccompanied by his usual entourage of political advisors and military officers—paced in and out of a thin sliver of light. The shadows, rather than concealing his features, brought additional depth to sharp cheekbones and fiery eyes. He noticed Ahsoka after a few moments and froze in place, nodding as he looked her over. She hated when he did that. "The yellow diamonds were a good choice," he said at last, indicating her necklace and tiara.

"Not _my_ choice," she replied coolly.

He frowned but said nothing, instead extending his arm. "Walk with me."

Ahsoka hesitated a moment before looping her arm through his. This was rather strange behaviour for an execution, she decided, or even for an admonishment. Could it be that the timing was purely coincidental, and Vader really _didn't_ know about her correspondance with Isé and Nadila? Or was he simply trying to imbue her with a false sense of security?

The doors to the throne room shuddered open, and Ahsoka's eyes widened as she saw that they had an audience. Members of both planetary and intergalactic nobility, either Coruscanti residents or guests who had lingered after Erosik's funeral, lined a velvet carpet in voluminous skirts and crisp suits. Holojournalists were also stationed throughout the throne room, and as Ahsoka and Vader advanced toward the dais, she could feel their camera lenses pinning her.

A butler announced the emperor and his sister, and the crowds fell into a cascade of bows and curtsies, kneeling as Vader swept past them. Tarkin and Offee awaited the emperor in front of the dais, surrounded by a few more officers whom Ahsoka didn't recognize, and the Crulian royal family stood at the forefront of the crowd of nobles. As Vivio rose from a stiff bow, he caught her eye for a moment, but he seemed unduly distracted, almost as though he hadn't even recognized her. Not that she was complaining, but…Ahsoka's gaze travelled down to his hand, where he was clutching an empty wine glass in a white-knuckled grip.

A collective intake of breath stole her attention away from Vivio, and Ahsoka turned to face the double doors of the throne room. A lovely brunette had materialized in the threshold, but despite her petite size, the ornate ballgown and shimmering tiara made her status clear. As she glided down the velvet carpet, two bodyguards in her wake, scarlet skirts billowed out behind her, and the matching veils that streamed down her back fluttered in an artificial breeze.

Ahsoka pulled in a shaky breath and felt Vader's gaze snap toward her. She made the mistake of looking back at him. He must have seen the desperation in her eyes, because his lips tugged upward into a tiny smile. _No. Say it wasn't—it_ couldn't _be—_

"Announcing Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Padmé Amidala."

This was so much worse than she ever could have imagined.

Ahsoka tried not to look stricken—she really did—but at the moment she was finding it hard to breathe, let alone control her emotions. Padmé completed her trek to the dais, but as Ahsoka tried to catch a glimpse of her face, Vader stepped in front of her, pulling his wife into a passionate kiss. A smattering of applause echoed throughout the throne room. Ahsoka turned away with violent speed, both hands pressed against her racing heart.

 _Why?_ This didn't make _sense_. Why would Padmé stride down that aisle and into Vader's arms without any qualms whatsoever? He must have threatened Luke and Leia, or maybe—

"Your Highness, are you feeling _unwell?"_ Tarkin's voice, thick with pomposity, needled her even more than usual. She forced her gaze upward to meet his eyes, ablaze with cruel joy.

"No," she said, as evenly as she could manage. "Not at all."

"Good." Tarkin pressed his lips into a condescending smile. Ahsoka glared at him through her eyelashes, turning to face Padmé before he could make another jab at her. Vader had since released his wife, and Padmé had angled her face toward the crowds. Ahsoka made to get her attention, but Vader took her shoulder and held her firmly in place.

"My esteemed subjects." Padmé had modulated her voice to match the deeper, more formal register associated with Empress Amidala. Still, the word 'subjects' evoked such a patronizing tone that Ahsoka was certain Padmé had not written the speech herself. "It is an honour to stand before you again, thanks largely to my husband's bravery and that of our Imperial stormtroopers. Without you, I shudder to think of the fate that would have befallen me."

The words left Padmé's lips in a detached monotone, so chillingly unlike the woman Ahsoka had come to know. At last she could stand it no longer and hissed, _"Padmé."_

The empress turned, and her skirts followed the movement with a gentle rustle. For a moment there was nothing, only the gaze of brown eyes that seared into blue, and then Padmé whispered, "Ahsoka." This time, her tone carried slightly more warmth. The empress extended a delicate hand, heavily adorned with rubies and diamonds. After a moment of deliberation, Ahsoka accepted, allowing Padmé to pull her into an embrace.

Their skirts tangled like flame, crimson against yellow. Ahsoka closed her eyes and set her head against Padmé's chest, shoulders shuddering as she tried to choke back sobs. "How?" she croaked so that only Padmé could hear. "How did he catch up to you?"

"We'll talk about that later. In private." Padmé slipped easily into her conversational tone, but something about it irked Ahsoka, like a note that was only marginally off key. She tugged just far enough out of Padmé's grasp to look up into her eyes—and froze.

Well. She had almost been fooled.

The makeup had been applied with an expert hand, just enough to bring out the features that most resembled Padmé's, and the imitation of the empress's voice and mannerisms had proven almost flawless. None of that could change the fact that Sabé was not Padmé Amidala. Ahsoka opened her mouth, but waves of relief swept away any words she might have uttered. _Padmé was safe. Padmé was still free._ Vader took her shoulders before she could return to her senses, yanking her out of Sabé's— _Sabé's!_ —grip. "Let's celebrate then, shall we?" he said.

* * *

On the other end of the galaxy, the real Padmé Amidala stood not in a glittering Core World ballroom but a worn, dimly-lit apartment in the Outer Rim, clothed in a frayed tunic and leggings rather than a lustrous gown. She paced frantically across the caf-stained carpet, ignoring the heat of Rex's eyes as they narrowed in on her. "I fought alongside Captain Panaka in the Battle of Naboo," she was reasoning aloud. "I _know_ him. If I could just appeal to his values of democracy and justice, I don't think he would be able to turn me in."

"And this…this Princess Sapphira. You trust her?"

"Based on what I know about her, yes." Padmé turned to face him directly. "I had hoped she would succeed Queen Apailana as Naboo's monarch…before Kylantha's appointment, that is."

This still did not appear to assuage Rex. In fact, he narrowed his eyes to such an extreme that he just as easily could have been squinting. "What you know _about_ her?" he repeated. "We're pinning our hopes on someone you haven't even met in person?"

In truth, Senator Amidala had made Princess Sapphira's acquaintance a handful of times, but those meetings had been so brief as to be currently unhelpful. Instead, Padmé found her thoughts drifting to a fateful encounter on a desert planet, half a lifetime ago, and a little boy—a stranger, really—who had won the queen the components needed to fix her ship. They had taken a chance on him then, and that was what she had to do now.

"She's our only hope, Captain." Padmé widened her eyes and clasped her hands together, imploring him to understand. "If you can't trust her, then trust _me_."

Slowly, Rex opened his mouth as if to respond—but then a nearby door slammed shut, robbing him of the opportunity. Subsequent footsteps clanked down the hallway, and out of instinct, Padmé whipped around and reached for an absent blaster. "Rex!" a man hollered, in a voice identical to that of the clone captain. Padmé had just begun to understand as two figures—two very _similar_ figures—appeared in the threshold. "We should've left for Seelos a week ago. The Empire just locked down all ports on Sullust, and—who's this?"

Padmé was about to introduce herself as Teckla when the man took a broad step toward her, eyes narrowed. The right one appeared to be a cybernetic replacement, as it was coloured grey rather than brown. "Wait a—what the kriff is the _empress_ doing here?"

"Wolffe, hold on—"

"You'd better have one hell of an explanation for this, Rex." Wolffe turned back toward Padmé, fists clenched at his sides. "Are _you_ the reason we're all stranded on this rock?"

"I don't know," she said, even as she realized that she probably was. "But if you would—"

"Maybe we should just turn her in." This came from the man standing behind Wolffe, a clone trooper with close-cropped dark hair and a crazed gleam in his eyes. "The Empire's clearly looking for her. Once they get her back, they might re-open the Sullustan ports—"

"Nobody's turning _anyone_ in!" Rex bellowed, pulling the blaster from his utility belt as he leapt to his feet. Though he didn't aim, the weapon in his hands proved enough of a threat to silence his companions. Only the TriNebulon holojournalist continued his jabbering, oblivious to the drama unfolding on the opposite side of the screen. "Wolffe, Gregor, just _listen_ for once. I know what you're thinking. That's how I felt at first, too. But she's on our side."

"The empress? On _our_ side?" Wolffe scoffed. "What makes you think a member of the Imperial royal family would ever ally herself with some Outer Rim scum?"

Padmé could feel her face growing hot and racked her mind for something to say—preferably something that might turn the tide in her favour. "Did you ever know Commander Tano?"

She didn't expect her words to spark a wave of silence, but that was precisely what they did. At least a full minute passed before anyone dared raise their voice over the holojournalist's muffled din. At last, Wolffe confessed, "Yeah. _I_ knew her." Padmé was vaguely surprised by the sudden hoarseness of his voice. "One time, while I was serving under General Plo Koon, Commander Tano and General Skywalker came to rescue us when no one else would. Without the commander, the Jedi Council probably would've left us for dead."

Padmé inhaled quickly, but Rex beat her to a verbal response. "Well then, listen up, soldiers," he barked. His voice gave no hint of the sentimentality she had noticed while they had reflected upon the Clone Wars, only the briskness of a battle-hardened soldier. "Distrust her all you want, but the empress is our only shot at extricating Commander Tano from Vader's grasp. Amidala came to us for help and we're going to give it to her. Is that clear?"

The man behind Wolffe—Gregor—staggered forward. "I thought we were going to Seelos—"

"What's on Seelos?" Padmé cut him off, turning to Rex with her arms crossed.

"Nothing," the captain replied. "But that's the point. Ever since the SoroSuub Corporation signed that contract with the Empire, there's been a massive Imperial build-up on Sullust."

Padmé nodded. "I can see how that would be problematic." Especially since she'd been on Sullust for all of three minutes before getting sighted by an Imperial officer.

"Doesn't matter now," Rex said, sweeping his laser-focused gaze from Wolffe to Gregor. "Forget Seelos, you hear me? We've gotta find a way to get to the Naboo system."

"Rex, wake _up,_ will you?" This also came from Gregor, who sauntered into range of the holoscreen's dim light. "I don't know if you remember, but the Empire's shut down _all ports_ —"

"The commander's lost her memories, Gregor." Rex spoke with quiet intensity, pinning his fellow soldier with unblinking eyes. "Everything. Vader stole _everything_ from before Order 66."

For whatever reason, this particular detail seemed to sway Gregor's mind, for he took a raspy breath and gave a tense nod of agreement. Even Wolffe's eyes widened in horror. "All right, then," Gregor consented. "We'll find a way." He turned to Padmé and lifted an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism interlaced with the gesture. She ignored it. "Any ideas, Your Majesty?"

Silently, Padmé pondered what she knew about the Imperial military. Many clones had already aged out of the army and navy, but as the Empire had only existed for about a year, there were still a good number of Clone Wars veterans amongst Imperial ranks. "I think so…," she said slowly, pointing toward a pile of Clone Wars-era relics that had been dumped beside the armchair. "Captain Rex, is there any chance we could use that armour?"

* * *

Sabé sat in the empress's private dressing room, the diamond-and-ruby tiara heavy upon her head. Though the celebration of Padmé's "rescue" was far from over, she had somehow managed to extract herself from a conversation with a Lord and Lady Stevis of Coruscant. They had shared some personal information about themselves, such as a few anecdotes about their infant son Chassellon, but they had also been shockingly relentless in their questioning; even Sabé had grown uncomfortable answering on Padmé's behalf. She imagined the lord and lady would have been sorely disappointed to learn that she wasn't even the real empress.

Sabé heard the _swish_ of opening doors and lifted her eyes. Emperor Vader made a very unwelcome entrance, a blue-and-white astromech at his heels. "Good show so far, _Empress Amidala,"_ he said pointedly, making himself at home in a velvet armchair. Sabé drummed her fingertips against her knee, trying not to lose her temper. "I figured I might find you here after I failed to locate you in the throne room. Were the festivities so overwhelming?"

"On the contrary, Your Majesty," Sabé answered smoothly, "I think you will find that I am well accustomed to filling Empress Amidala's shoes at social gatherings."

To be fair, this was the first time she had served as decoy to _Empress_ Amidala, at least in an official capacity. Since the rise of the Empire, Sabé had of course taken Padmé's place whenever necessary—namely all of those times her friend had slipped out of the Imperial Palace to perform tasks for the Rebellion. Yet even though she had never attended a formal function as the empress, her experience as Queen Amidala's double had more than prepared her for this role. Sabé could also remember serving as _Senator_ Amidala's decoy, at the party Mon Mothma had thrown during Padmé's first term in the Senate. She had been so confident then that it would be the last time. How wrong she had been.

"We shall see." Vader leaned forward and steepled his fingers. "And what of Princess Ahsoka? Were you successful in convincing her that you are indeed Padmé Amidala?"

Sabé remembered the flash of uncertainty that had crossed Tano's eyes, so briefly that she could have imagined it. "I have studied the empress's mannerisms and behaviour around the princess and replicated them accordingly," she said. "I have done my best, Your Majesty."

"We shall have to hope your best is up to Imperial standards. For your friend's sake, of course."

Sabé's heart jolted at the reminder. It had been Rabé who had disguised her as Amidala, coiling her hair into a glamourous up-do and applying makeup with a trembling hand. Both women had been conscious the entire time of Vader just a few steps away, his lightsaber always too close for comfort. Only a moment after Rabé had nestled the tiara within a crown of braids, Vader had seized a fistful of her hair and dragged her toward the doors. _"I'm holding on to this one, Empress Amidala. Just in case you disappoint me at our little celebration."_

After Rabé's arrest, Sabé harboured no delusions that Vader would hesitate to threaten Yané or Eirtaé. Perhaps he would even go after the senatorial handmaidens whom Sabé knew only as acquaintances. Though he had never said so outright, she knew Vader suspected her involvement in the Rebellion. It was obvious enough, given her espionage training and close friendship with Padmé. That made it all the more crucial for Sabé to keep her mask in place. He could suspect, perhaps, but she refused to give him any solid proof.

"Indeed," she replied, meeting his eyes with a gentle smile.

Vader's lips pursed into a frown, but he gave no other indication of his disappointment. Instead, he hefted himself out of his chair and lumbered toward the doors. "Very well, Empress. Don't be too long; there are many guests still eager to make your acquaintance."

As he disappeared past the threshold, silken cape thrashing in the air behind him, the little astromech rolled up to Sabé and offered her a glass of glowwine. "Thank you," Sabé said, and even though she had no intention of drinking tonight, she accepted the glass out of politeness. Glowwine was not classified as intoxicating, per se, but it could warp one's perception of dull events so that they seemed more exciting. Even so, Sabé couldn't risk consuming anything that might cloud her judgement—particularly not while she was amongst enemies.

She expected the droid to leave once she accepted the drink, but instead, it remained quietly—almost loyally—at her side. Sabé cast another glance at the astromech, took in the blue and white patterning that appeared vaguely familiar, and then—"Wait a minute," she whispered. "You're the droid—you're the droid who fixed the queen's starship while we were under attack from the Trade Federation, aren't you? What was it…R2-D2?"

The astromech squealed in confirmation, clearly happy to be remembered, but Sabé had already grown distracted. Her gaze centred on a small piece of technology fastened directly beneath R2-D2's dome-shaped head. _A restraining bolt,_ she thought in disgust.

Sabé set the glass of glowwine on a nearby table and slipped to the floor to kneel before R2-D2. Drawing on her training as a Nabooian handmaiden, she angled her body and adjusted her ample skirts to block the cameras' respective lines of vision. R2-D2 chirped gratefully as she twisted off the restraining bolt, but she simply gave her head a quick shake, motioning for him to fall silent. _Cameras,_ she mouthed. As if to return her nod, the astromech swung back and forth on his axis, and Sabé couldn't help the amused smile that crossed her lips.

"I'm not Padmé, you know," she added under her breath, as it occurred to her that the little droid might have mistaken the two of them. But R2-D2 let loose a merry trill that could only have been the droid equivalent of laughter, and Sabé hesitantly translated, "You already know who I am, then?" Though he had warbled the message in simple Binary, it was still a relief—not to mention an avoidance of embarrassment—as he chirped in the affirmative. "It does feel strange," Sabé confessed miserably. "Like a betrayal of trust. I've never impersonated Padmé before without her permission…but she wouldn't want me to just let him hurt Rabé. Would she?"

Only a moment after the words left her lips, she realized that the droid probably didn't even know who Rabé was, unless he somehow remembered a silent, hooded handmaiden from the incident on the starship. Nonetheless, R2-D2 emitted a thoughtful _booop_ before answering. "That's right. You did, didn't you?" Sabé whispered, running an affectionate hand over the astromech's dome. She had forgotten that R2-D2 had served Padmé during her early years in the Senate, but his words were nonetheless true: both Queen and Senator Amidala had prioritized the protection of those who could not help themselves, no matter the cost.

That still did not change the fact that by doubling for Empress Amidala, Sabé was complacent in the emperor's schemes. She was no fool, after all. Vader needed a means not only of calming the public resentment sparked by Padmé's absence, but also of restoring the nobles' trust in his strength—particularly his ability to triumph over the imaginary kidnappers. The people were willing to place their faith in Vader, it seemed, so long as Padmé—former queen and senator of Naboo—stood by his side. Sabé wished to share these sentiments with R2-D2, but she could feel the cameras blazing against the back of her neck and forced herself to bite her tongue.

As if he could read her mind, however, the little astromech rolled a bit closer, tilting his dome toward Sabé as far as he could. She closed her eyes and listened as he warbled out yet another stream of Binary, intricacies layered beneath the obvious message. It had taken years of wielding and warping words for Sabé to grow comfortable with cloaking the true meaning of a conversation, and despite herself, she was impressed with R2-D2's subtlety. Perhaps the handmaidens had not been the only ones to learn from Padmé's skills and intelligence.

"Of course we're taking care of Empress Amidala's loved ones," Sabé assured R2-D2 as he finished. "She's always prioritized helping others—you said so yourself—and we all know she would want us to fill in for her while she's…while she's gone. Yané loves looking after children and she has experience with twins, so she takes care of Prince Luke and Princess Leia whenever she can. And I believe Dormé attends to the Princess Ahsoka…"

She trailed off as the pieces locked into place, at last forming a full picture. _"How?"_ Tano had demanded, close to tears, in the throne room. _"How did he catch up to you?"_ Her words had revealed clear distress at Padmé's supposed recapture, and Eirtaé, who had prepared the princess for the ball a few nights ago, had urged Sabé to give her a second chance. She trusted Eirtaé with her life, of course—they had braved Coruscant together during the occupation of Naboo, not to mention an entire cascade of challenges after that—but now that R2-D2, yet another one of Padmé's companions, was hinting at something very similar….

"I've made a mistake, haven't I?" Sabé realized quietly, and R2-D2 gave another high-pitched chirp of affirmation. He had his own reasons for trusting Ahsoka Tano, she figured, though it would be too risky, at least in this time and place, to inquire. In any case, it was clear now that her prior suspicions of Tano's betrayal were unfounded, perhaps even wrong. Sabé gracefully rose to her feet, smoothed layers of scarlet satin back into place, and gave R2-D2's dome one last affectionate pat. "I suppose the emperor was right. We should return to the festivities."

R2-D2 squealed in agreement and assumed his place at Sabé's side. She suppressed the amused quirk of her lips, instead purging her expression of emotion as she swept toward the throne room. _Skirts in hand, posture straight and elegant, chin raised just so._ Padmé's mannerisms had been drilled into her since age fourteen, and as she morphed into them, Sabé herself faded away. All that was left now was to become Empress Amidala.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! I apologize that this was more of a bridge chapter, though the next one will be pretty eventful, so stay tuned. ;)**

 **Cellorules: Thank you so much! :) I remembered after reading your review that Rex and Padmé did work together during the Blue Shadow Virus crisis on Naboo, so I will try to work in a reference to that sometime down the road.**

 **Nameless: Thank you! I'm so happy to hear that you are enjoying the story. I hope you enjoyed Artoo's role in this chapter. ;)**

 **donutstar123: Thanks! I had seen Mando'a used in other fics, so I decided I would give it a try. Thank you again for your review!**

 **Please remember to favourite/follow/review if you enjoyed.**

 **Love, Isabelle**


	29. Chapter 29

**Hi, everyone! Happy belated Canada Day to my fellow Canadians, and happy Fourth of July to my American readers. Here is a quick summary of the last chapter before we get started: Ahsoka contacts Princess Isé of Naboo and Princess Nadila of Chandrila, and the three of them begin their plans to unravel Vader's régime. Before they can finish their conversation, Vader summons Ahsoka to a ball celebrating Padmé's "rescue", though she quickly realizes that Sabé is standing in as the empress's decoy. In the meantime, the real Padmé meets Wolffe and Gregor on Sullust, and with Rex, they begin to plot how they can get off of the planet and to the Naboo system. Lastly, Sabé speaks to Artoo and decides to trust Ahsoka as an ally.  
**

 **Guest: Thank you! I am enjoying writing Captain Rex, too. :)**

 **Nameless: Thank you so much for your kind review! I am glad that you enjoyed Artoo's appearance, I had fun bringing him back in. ;) I hope you enjoy this next chapter, too!**

 **Also, as we enter the final act of this story, I have been considering writing a prequel from the perspectives of Padmé and some of her handmaidens. If that is something anyone would be interested in, please let me know in the reviews. No promises yet, it is just an idea at this stage...but perhaps...**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy Chapter 29!**

* * *

Per Coruscant's weather schedule, it stormed that night; sheets of rain slammed against the palace turrets and lightning forked through the sky. Ahsoka sat in her window seat with her knees curled up to her chest, still dressed in the yellow gown she had worn to the ball. As the downpour hammered in her montrals, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against her knees. How long since she had slept now? A few days, at least…maybe even a week…

A crack of thunder tore through the gentler patter of rain, jolting Ahsoka back to her senses. She rubbed at her eyes and blinked them open blearily, startling as she saw a previously absent person now standing near one of her bedposts. "Commander… _what_ are you doing here?"

Commander Offee clasped her hands behind her back and took a stiff step toward Ahsoka. If she hadn't known better, she might have thought that the commander was _nervous_. "I've been assigned to guard your chambers for the night, Princess. Your regular bodyguards will arrive shortly, after they've accompanied Empress Amidala to her suite. Perhaps a more pertinent question would be, why are you not yet in bed? It's already 0100 hours in the morning."

"I like watching the thunderstorms," Ahsoka said curtly, returning her gaze to the window and glaring out at Coruscant. "I like that they refuse to be quiet. I like that they're _angry."_

Commander Offee remained silent for so long that Ahsoka assumed she had decided to simply ignore her. But then she said, "I suppose Coruscanti weather control doesn't schedule for storms very often, do they? Have you…have you ever seen one in person?"

"As far as I can remember? _No."_ Ahsoka dragged her finger along the rain-streaked glass, just barely suppressing an audible scowl. "Only ever through my window."

"Well then, would you like to?"

The question caught her so off guard that she threw an instinctive glance at Commander Offee, ruining her disinterested façade in the process. "I, uh—I—what did you say?"

Offee gave a shrug, but the movement proved too robotic to come across as completely natural. "I have authority to accompany you almost anywhere in the palace, Your Highness. If you would like to see a thunderstorm in person, I can take you to the gardens right now."

Ahsoka studied her for a moment through narrowed eyes. When she found nothing of considerable suspicion, she crossed her arms over her chest and heaved a sigh. "Okay, no offense, Commander, but why are you suddenly being so nice to me?"

"You're my princess, of course. I owe you my respect."

Ahsoka could have laughed. "I'm your _prisoner_. You realize that, right?"

"Princess, do you want me to take you to the gardens or not?"

Ahsoka pressed a weary hand to her temple. She needed to keep herself awake so that she wouldn't lose any more memories, and fresh air was a scarce luxury nowadays. "Okay. Sure. Why not, I guess. Though the emperor might very well kill me for getting my dress wet."

Offee tilted her head to the side, frowned, and murmured, "I may be able to do something about that." Before Ahsoka could remind her that she was really no match for Vader, the commander continued, "You're about my size, aren't you? Maybe a little bit taller…"

Ahsoka perked up for what felt like the first time in days. "Are you suggesting…" When Offee nodded, she slumped backward against the wall and sighed in relief. "Thank the Force. Now please tell me you have something I can borrow that isn't a ballgown."

* * *

Ahsoka, in all likelihood, literally could not remember the last time she had worn a pair of pants, but here she was in a borrowed jacket, shirt, and leggings, clipping down the palace hallways at Offee's side. She and the commander received a few furtive glances from passing servants, but otherwise they were left mostly alone. Ahsoka oftentimes found herself holding her breath, waiting for Vader or Tarkin to spring out from behind a corner to arrest them both, until she remembered that there was nothing incriminating about Offee escorting her to the gardens.

And then the power completely cut out, plunging both Ahsoka and her guard into darkness. Ahsoka blinked repeatedly, trying to coax her eyes into adjusting to the lack of light, as Offee called, "Princess?" Ahsoka stumbled toward the source of the voice and extended her hand so that Offee could take her wrist. "Oh, good," the commander said, pulling Ahsoka along behind her. "I'm glad I found you. The storm must have affected the power lines."

Ahsoka frowned. "Strange for something so precisely planned by weather control," she said in a lowered voice, "to knock out the royal power lines, don't you think?"

Offee froze for a moment and then nearly doubled her pace, keeping a firm grip on Ahsoka's wrist so that she was forced to keep up. Only a few seconds later, the commander deviated from their previous path, and Ahsoka's heart dropped. "Commander Offee," she demanded, planting her feet firmly against the ground, _"where_ are you taking me?"

Offee bolted around and pressed a finger to Ahsoka's lips to silence her. She pulled back at once with an indignant scowl, but before she could say anything else, Offee took her left arm and pushed the jacket sleeve up to her elbow. "You think Governor Tarkin wanted this on camera?" Ahsoka could see just well enough in the darkness to notice the saddened gleam in Offee's eyes as she blinked down at the princess's scar. "The legitimacy of the Empire depends on manipulating history, and we Imperial officers were granted our powers accordingly."

So…Offee and Tarkin could turn on and off the palace cameras? By the looks of it, they could even shut down the entire power grid if necessary, as Offee had done to cover her tracks. But that still didn't answer the question—what tracks were she covering in the first place?

For the next ten minutes, Ahsoka's heart stuck in her throat as Offee led her up and down staircases in a disorienting fashion. _The legitimacy of the Empire depends on manipulating history._ Surely only someone who had lost their faith in the Empire would dare say something so treasonous? And just earlier this morning, Offee had saved Ahsoka from Tarkin's wrath….

No. She still couldn't safely assume anything.

Her body jerked forward unexpectedly as Offee shoved her, but Ahsoka threw out her hands just in time to halt her fall. A cool, stony surface met her palms, and the distant stench of mildew reached her nose before she could determine where she was in the darkness. Her cheeks and lekku chilled from rapid blood drainage. She should have _known_ that Offee would…but then a hand settled on her shoulder, immediately before the door squeaked shut behind them.

"Up this way," the commander murmured, guiding Ahsoka along a twisting stairwell. The stairs themselves were often chipped at the edges or cut in unequal slabs, and with limited vision and an unfamiliar terrain beneath her, Ahsoka stumbled a few times. As far as she could tell, however, Offee made the ascent seamlessly. She even knew when to clutch Ahsoka's shoulder tighter as they encountered pairs of particularly uncooperative steps.

"Are we in the servants' quarters or the dungeon?" Ahsoka finally found the voice to ask. She could think of no other wings of the palace that would be so clearly unglamourous.

Offee took far too long to respond. "Neither," she said at last.

Ahsoka flinched at the lack of details. Still, she decided that her best option was to see what Offee had in store, even as her heart protested the idea with a violent jerk. The commander nudged open a door that responded with drawn-out shriek, and a sliver of light tumbled in through the crack. Ahsoka could now vaguely see as Offee, with the breathless caution she might have possessed while prodding at a sleeping beast, pushed the door the rest of the way open. A lavish antechamber, dappled with moonshine, came into view on the other side.

Ahsoka inhaled too loudly and leapt away from the door, nearly tumbling backward down the stairs in her haste. Vader—though at the time, she had still called him Anakin—had occasionally brought her here to either administer her medication or to keep an eye on her while he was working. "Commander, can you explain what we're doing in the _emperor's_ chambers?"

As she probably should have expected, Offee shushed her under her breath and pulled her into the antechamber by her wrist. Ahsoka glanced over her shoulder at the stairwell they had just exited, now lit by a sudden flash of lightning. With a start, she realized they had been not in the servants' quarters but the servants' _corridors,_ designed to provide quick access from the lower levels of the palace to the five towers where the royal family took up their residence.

Offee waved her hand and the door slid shut behind them, caging both Ahsoka and her guard inside of the antechamber. It occurred to her that if someone got the power working again—which could happen any second now—she and Offee would be caught immediately. Of course, that was assuming their very presence here didn't do the trick. Ahsoka could hardly bring herself to breathe as she tiptoed up a velvet-carpeted staircase, Offee a few steps in the lead.

As soon as they reached the second level, the commander telekinetically slipped open an imposing pair of oak doors. Vader had never permitted Ahsoka inside of his suite of private offices, but they appeared as she might have imagined them: elaborately carved shelves built into the walls, lined with priceless paper books that were probably centuries old; a grand bureau, complete with a surface of gleaming marble, that sat on a carpeted dais in front of the window; settee sofas of velvet and chairs with silk coverlets, arranged beneath a crystal candelabrum. What irked her at this point was not so much the wasteful luxury of the office, but rather the two gilded frames that Vader had placed on either side of the entryway.

The first of the oil paintings depicted Shmi Skywalker as empress. Beside her, the fictional Emperor Callius V stood regally behind a teenage Crown Prince Anakin, gripping his son by his shoulders. An even younger Princess Ahsoka posed in front of her mother, hands clasped demurely across her stomach. Ahsoka Tano peered somewhat disgustedly at the painting—a moment that had never happened brought nonetheless into existence—and couldn't help but wonder if, at age eight or nine, she really had resembled that starry-eyed girl.

In the second portrait, her seventeen-year-old likeness proved far more recognizable; she could even remember the day Vader had had it commissioned. Fewer than seventy-two hours had elapsed since her awakening, and he had still hurried to bring in a professional artist who copied onto canvas an image of the emperor, his sister, his wife, and their two children. A sort of frantic documentation to legitimize the existence of a new royal family, perhaps. Ahsoka knew that Vader's attempts to brainwash her had been designed so that she would believe his version of the past. But these two paintings, positioned to remain in his line of sight for the duration of his workday, made her wonder if the emperor was also trying to convince _himself._

"Princess Ahsoka!" Offee's whispered hiss drew Ahsoka from her musings, and she bolted around to face the commander. Offee stood before one of the bookcases, hands planted on her hips. "I hate to ruin a moment of nostalgia, but now is not the time for reminiscing."

"Forgive me," Ahsoka said with some heat in her tone, annoyed at Offee's implication that all of these events had indeed happened. Somehow, she swallowed that indignation and came to the commander's side, nodding for her to continue with the plan. Whatever that was, anyway.

A flicker of reluctance drifted across Offee's eyes, but then she closed them and lifted both hands toward the bookcase. The shelves began to rattle in place, spitting invaluable texts from their stacks and sending them tumbling to the floor. The vibrations built into a crash of sound so raucous that it forced Ahsoka to clench her hands over her montrals. Even with the added protection, she flinched, certain that Vader would hear and come running at any minute.

Offee, on the other hand, gave no indication of having noticed the deafening clatter. Her now-open eyes flashed with yellow sparks as she telekinetically split the bookcase—no, the _wall_ into which the bookcase was built—down the middle. With a corresponding hand motion and a near scream of exertion, she wrenched it apart, fingertips curled toward her palms like claws.

As soon as the two halves of the bookshelf rumbled to a stop, Offee collapsed to her knees and gave a desperate gasp for air. Ahsoka brought her hands to her sides and took a few tentative steps forward, examining the entity whose reveal had drained so much of Offee's energy. "A turbolift," she realized in a whisper. "But the power's still out, it won't work—"

"This is…the…old-fashioned kind," Offee assured her brusquely. Though still winded, she mustered the strength to pull herself to her feet. "An elevator. It'll get us where we need to go."

Ahsoka grimaced. "But won't Vader have heard"—she gestured vaguely at the elevator— _"that?"_

The commander gave her head a terse shake. "I've seen the emperor open this passageway himself before. His entire suite of offices is sound-proof, protected by Sith magic."

Ahsoka shuddered at the thought, even as she recognized that in this case, such manipulation of the Force worked to her advantage. She tried not to ponder that concept for too long. "In that case, I would like to get into that _elevator_ and out of here as soon as possible."

"As you wish, Your Highness." Commander Offee bobbed into a mock curtsy, wearing a smile that might have been wolfish had it not been for the playfulness hidden beneath. Then, unexpectedly, a wave of solemnity swept her features, erasing any trace of mirth. "I should warn you, however: if a touch of Sith magic frightens you, I would stop right here."

Ahsoka's heart rammed into her ribcage at the cautionary words, but she quickly threw back her shoulders in hopes of brushing off her uncertainty. "I'm not afraid."

Offee narrowed her eyes in scrutiny. "Good," she said at last, but she didn't sound so confident.

* * *

Even with the help of the Force, Offee took a few minutes to tidy up the mess she had created in revealing the elevator, and the drop into the depths of the Imperial Palace stretched on for even longer. Ahsoka, accustomed to the lightning-quick speeds of the palace's more modern turbolifts, fiddled uncomfortably with the hem of her athletic jacket to pass the time.

At last, when the silence grew too heavy to bear, she blurted out, "Your eyes." Offee shot her an almost disinterested side glance, and she rushed to continue. "As you revealed the entrance, your eyes flashed yellow. I've never seen that happen to anyone but Vader…"

Offee sighed and threw up a hand to silence Ahsoka. "Yellow eyes usually characterize an embrace of the Dark Side—an unfortunate prerequisite for accessing that entrance."

"So you have embraced the Dark Side," Ahsoka clarified slowly.

To her surprise, Offee bit down on her lip in near reluctance. "Yes, I suppose I have," she admitted. "Which does not necessarily mean I have come to identify with the Sith."

Ahsoka frowned at the floor. "I would expect Vader is still looking for an apprentice."

"Well, it won't be me." Offee scoffed, smoothing her uniform to busy her trembling hands. "Honestly, I'm not sure he'll ever be willing to take on someone who isn't you."

Ahsoka pondered that for a moment. "No. He's waiting for his son to come of age."

"What—what do you mean?"

"His son. Luke. He's already been named heir to the Empire, after all. It would make sense for the emperor to pass along his Force abilities to the crown prince, don't you think?"

A hint of concern settled over Offee's face, but the elevator shuddered to a stop before she could respond. "We're here," she said instead as the doors slid open—

—To reveal rocky walls and flickers of torchlight that made Ahsoka's heart leap to her throat. Before Offee could stop her, she rushed from the elevator and darted through the corridor ahead of her, skidding to a stop in a sprawling chamber that she recognized all too well. A flash of scarlet caught her eye, and she darted around to face the statue. The glowing pyramid in its palms emitted shafts of red light as the icon towered over the room in domination.

"It's a personification of the Dark Side of the Force, known to many as the Bogan."

Ahsoka bolted around with a startled gasp, only to learn that Offee had already caught up to her and was examining the statue with a furrowed brow. "The _Dark_ Side of the Force?" Ahsoka repeated hesitantly. "But the palace used to be the Jedi Temple. Shouldn't this—"

"Coruscant's Jedi Temple was built on top of a Sith shrine." Offee presented this new information as if it were common knowledge, apparently oblivious to Ahsoka's widening eyes. "I would be careful if I were you, Princess. The Keeper of the Shrine"—she swept a hand toward the statue of the Bogan—"doesn't take kindly to Jedi parading into its home."

Chills raced along Ahsoka's arms, and she shuddered. "So that's why Vader brought me here."

"He—he _what?_ Brought you here? When?"

Ahsoka squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard, then somehow forced the story out of her mouth. "Before Erosik's family arrived on Coruscant, Vader summoned me and tried to strike a deal. He promised he would teach me how to halt my memory loss if, for however long the Crulian royals remained on Coruscant, I acted on his orders. We made a Force-sanctioned pact to solidify the deal and yes, I _know_ it was stupid, but I was so desperate and afraid…"

Ahsoka lifted her gaze ashamedly to meet Offee's eyes, expecting to see a scowl upon her lips or judgement etched across her features. Instead, the commander shook her head in near sympathy. "He found some loophole, didn't he?" Offee quirked her lips into a bitter smile as Ahsoka nodded. "Don't take it too personally, Princess. Vader has a way of manipulating people into doing what he wants. Myself included, as is probably obvious at this point."

"Is that why you're helping me all of a sudden?" Ahsoka couldn't help but ask. "You feel that he manipulated you, and so you decided to work by my side to get revenge?"

She hadn't said it with any accusatory heat, but Offee immediately insisted, _"No._ I'm not that petty. Well…not anymore, one would hope." She gave a forced laugh, but it came across as a pathetic attempt to choke back tears. Offee sighed in response to this humiliation and met the younger girl's eyes. "Ahsoka, listen. I'm already lost to the Dark Side. I made a mistake once and have paid for it ever since. But at least I've come to realize that it _was_ a mistake, and though it will probably end in failure, I have to _try_ to redeem myself." She stole another shaky breath and added, "I am going to use my link to the Dark Side to help you."

"I—I still don't think I understand," Ahsoka admitted.

Offee glanced over her shoulder at the Keeper of the Shrine. "The standing Sith Master gains automatic possession of a mysterious chamber guarded by the Bogan and his holocron"—she indicated the pyramid clenched between the statue's hands—"but only one who draws on the Dark Side can unlock it. As he and I are the only people in the palace who can do so, Vader has entrusted all of his most precious secrets to that chamber. And as long as I manage to open the holocron, you should be able to enter and learn how to reverse your memory loss."

"'Reverse'?" Ahsoka whispered in awe. "You mean I could reclaim some of my memories?"

"I can't make any promises. But if all goes well…then yes. That is my hope."

Ahsoka found herself blinking back tears of gratitude. "Thank you, Commander Offee—"

"Barriss." The word left the commander's lips as a timid whisper. Ahsoka stared, shock plastered across her face as she tried—and failed—to process the other woman's sudden shyness. "I'd prefer that you know me as Barriss. My first name. It's what you called me before."

"Barriss…" Ahsoka was surprised by how easily it rolled from her tongue. "Thank you, Barriss."

"Don't thank me yet," Barriss warned her. "I've never unlocked the holocron on my own before."

"But you've _already_ helped. I found the comlink in my…" She trailed off at Barriss's bewildered expression, and sudden nausea gnawed at her stomach. "Wait, that—that wasn't you?"

"Don't tell me anything else," Barriss replied sternly. "I don't want to know."

Ahsoka opened her mouth to respond, but Barriss grasped her hands and tugged her closer before she could. "I'll only be able to buy you so much time," she said hoarsely. "It won't be long before Vader's people find a way to circumvent my power shutdown, assuming they haven't already. And since I had to use my officer's codes, they'll know it was me."

"But…unless they find us here, they can't prove anything, right? You'll be—"

"This isn't _about_ me, Princess. Listen. The Sith aren't like the Jedi. If you are not the current Sith Master—which, in case you haven't noticed, you aren't—the Bogan will force you to undergo a trial in order to gain access to the chamber. It varies from person to person, but there's one common theme: you will find yourself trapped in your darkest nightmare, and you will need to escape. Some never find the exit. Many come to confuse the simulation with reality and drive themselves mad with grief. Do not—I repeat, do _not_ —forget where you are."

A shiver passed down Ahsoka's spine. Remembering wasn't exactly her strong suit.

"The simulations are unrestrainedly cruel and, worse yet, _authentic,"_ Barriss continued, her eyes shimmering with barely subdued concern. "They will appeal to all of your senses as reality would, designed to make even the calmest person second-guess herself."

"How do you know this?" Ahsoka pressed. "Have you ever undergone the trial?"

Barriss grimaced and shut her eyes. Her shoulders jerked forward in a motion that betrayed her urge to flinch away. "Once. Almost immediately after the emperor recruited me to track you down. He wanted to make sure that I was…'worthy' of the position."

"Ugh," Ahsoka muttered, angered but lamentably unsurprised by Vader's brutality.

Before she could conjure up a more eloquent response, Barriss took her shoulder and nudged her gently toward the Keeper of the Shrine. When Ahsoka hesitated, the commander took her wrist and pressed her hand against the statue's base. "Stay in position," Barriss murmured, almost soothingly, "and it will admit you once I've unlocked the holocron."

A sudden lump formed in Ahsoka's throat, and she dipped her head into a silent nod.

Barriss lingered by her side for a moment before tiptoeing backward, as if she thought Ahsoka might move out of place without her supervision. She didn't, even as precious yet uneventful seconds ticked past. After what must have been at least a couple of minutes, Ahsoka had grown so accustomed to the monotony that the blinding outbreak of scarlet luminescence, followed closely by a planet-shattering rumble, nearly made her jump or gasp in shock.

Only when the blast of red light began to dissolve into black could Ahsoka make out the vague echo of a voice—a voice that could only belong to Commander Barriss Offee. "If you ever learn who I was in your past"—its song undulated from loud to soft volumes beneath the roar of the explosion, and Ahsoka strained to catch the last syllables—

"I can only hope you know how sorry I am."

* * *

The next thing she knew, her eyes were open and Emperor Vader's arm was locked through hers, his features stony as he stared straight ahead. She followed his gaze along a velvet carpet and as far as a marble dais, where rays of light slotted through stained glass to tumble upon a face she had thought she would never again see. Ahsoka's next breath flew into her lungs on a gasp, and her legs slackened beneath the weight of half a dozen layers of petticoats.

A glance over her shoulder revealed six young women in matching pearl tiaras and gowns of royal purple satin, one of whom Ahsoka recognized as Countess Emalina of Chandrila. The women held swaths of white silk and lace between them as they traversed the carpet, and as Ahsoka turned her gaze to the skirts that now fluttered around her, she developed a numb awareness that the women—the _bridesmaids_ —were carrying the train of a wedding gown.

 _Her_ wedding gown.

She swallowed the sob that rose in her throat and gave a desperate tug away from Vader, but he reeled her back in. "I believe we had a deal, Princess," he said in a silky whisper. "I would hate to have to remove more of your memories and keep you in lifelong isolation."

Her heart pounded out a frantic rhythm as she returned her gaze to the dais, locking eyes with Prince Erosik of Crulius. He offered a slight smirk as Vader escorted Ahsoka up the steps of the dais, depositing her in the prince's arms with all the emotion of a business transaction. Erosik leaned uncomfortably close as the ceremony commenced, hovering his lips near her lekku.

"You took me for dead, did you, Soka?" he demanded in a raspy murmur. The warmth of his breath tickled her neck, and she shuddered disgustedly. "Isn't this a surprise, then."

 _You took me for dead._ But Erosik—Erosik _was_ dead. He had died by _her_ hand. She had even attended his funeral—in this very temple, no less! The realization evoked another voice, though this time it sounded only in memory. _Do not—I repeat, do_ not _—forget where you are._

Ahsoka glanced out at the pews and balconies lined with exquisitely clothed guests, each of their faces etched in perfect, illusory detail. The members of the wedding party had arranged themselves exactly as they had at the rehearsal all of those months ago. Even the fine details of Ahsoka's bridal gown—the bodice's pearl and diamond beading and the elaborate embroidery along the hem and train—appeared before her eyes precisely as she remembered them.

 _The simulations are unrestrainedly cruel. They will appeal to all of your senses as reality would._

Her eyes drifted from her gown to the pair of doors at the opposite end of the velvet carpet.

 _You will find yourself trapped in your darkest nightmare. Some never find the exit._

Ahsoka suspected, with a flutter of hope in her chest, that she already had.

She turned back to the man she had killed and offered him a half-smile, which he readily reciprocated. If Erosik was the same in this world as he had been in real life—and she had no reason to believe he wasn't—then it shouldn't be too difficult to manipulate him. Ahsoka reached for his hand, and he immediately seized hers. "I missed you," she lied in a whisper.

"Really?" Erosik glided the back of his free hand down her cheek. "My parents were so upset when the wedding didn't pan out the first time. They felt sure that without a marriage to solidify good relations, we were in danger of losing our trade deals with the Empire."

Ahsoka bristled before remembering that this was just a simulation. Surely it would not restrain from toying with her temper to distract her. So why was that so hard to keep in mind?

Maybe because the illusion before her looked _just like him_. Sharp nose, ghostly pale skin, lips pursed into an almost perpetual smirk. What startled her most, however, were the distinctive, piercing dark eyes that currently swept up and down her face, as if to drink in every aspect of her appearance. She shuddered. Erosik was supposed to be _dead,_ but what good was dead when he stood right in front of her, alive and breathing at the altar?

His hands dropped to her waist, and she sucked in a nearly frantic breath. There was only one thing Ahsoka often wished she could forget: _the unwanted press of his body against hers, the silken whispers that spurred on prickles of fear, the skittering of his fingertips along her skin_ —her pulse raced as their eyes locked, and before she could even process the motion of her legs, she had broken his grip and hurtled herself as far from the altar as possible.

She gasped heavily as she sprinted down the velvet carpet, veil and train sailing out behind her in an explosion of silk, lace, and tulle. The double doors swole in size as she drew closer, but a yank on her train dragged her backward right as she threw a hand toward the handle. Ahsoka screamed and struggled against her captor's grip, but the silk skirts lashed around her legs like a net, leaving her powerless to do anything but thrash in a prison of her own making.

Her captor hauled her toward the altar with increasing speed. Ahsoka dug her fingernails into the carpet, but all that accomplished was leaving the velvet scarred with shallow grooves. She battled against her corset, contorting her body to catch a brief flash of chestnut hair—

"Ahsoka. Stop struggling."

A pair of brown eyes, accentuated by shimmery makeup and long lashes, bobbed into her vision—and Ahsoka's muscles went lax. Empress Padmé Amidala held the tail of the bride's train, her lips curved into the slightest of frowns. The train tumbled from her hand in a flutter of lace and silk, and as she knelt to Ahsoka's level, satin pooled around her in a sea of royal purple.

"This is your _role,_ my dear." An undercurrent of anger rippled beneath Padmé's tone as she set a patronizing hand on Ahsoka's cheek. "Make yourself useful to your emperor."

Ahsoka slapped away the empress's hand, aghast. _"Padmé?_ How—how could you _say_ that?"

"We all make sacrifices." Padmé's eyes adopted a glazed sheen as they centred on something in the distance. "Force knows how much I gave up for you, Ahsoka." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "We don't have the resources yet to challenge this wedding. Bail and Mon warned me that if we were to resist the emperor now, he would wipe us out without mercy. If you care at all about the Rebellion, you will take Prince Erosik as your husband."

 _You will find yourself trapped in your darkest nightmare. The simulations are unrestrainedly cruel._ Even as she replayed Barriss's words in her mind, Ahsoka realized that she was shaking her head in denial. To look into her role model's eyes as she commanded Ahsoka to marry a man who repulsed the both of them…a violent shudder ripped down her spine. Maybe, ever since learning of the Jedi's betrayal and Anakin Skywalker's even more terrible violation of trust, she had been waiting for the inevitable moment when Padmé would turn on her, too.

Maybe _that_ was her deepest fear, now thrust into the light of day.

"No." The word came to Ahsoka's lips in a whisper, fortified by a backbone of steel.

"What?"

"No. I _won't_. I won't just stand by and let Vader make me into his bargaining chip!"

Padmé snatched Ahsoka by her wrist and yanked her to her feet. Though Ahsoka reminded herself that this was all a manifestation of her fears, not reality, the tug of grief at her chest seemed to claim otherwise. "This isn't about _you,_ Ahsoka!" Padmé snapped.

With a cry of frustration, Ahsoka tried to wrestle her way out of Padmé's grip, but Vader rambled into her path before she could go anywhere. Wordlessly, he slung his putative sister over his shoulder and marched toward a glass table at the end of the dais. Prince Erosik was already seated in one of the velvet-backed chairs, an old-fashioned pen in hand, and he glanced up at Ahsoka with a sickeningly eager grin as she and the emperor drew closer.

Vader dropped Ahsoka into the second chair, and Erosik immediately pressed his pen to parchment. Ink gushed from the tip in the form of _HRH Prince Erosik._ Then he shoved the writing utensil in Ahsoka's direction, so quickly that one might have assumed he was anxious to be rid of it. But with only a brief glimpse at the parchment, she knew better.

Ahsoka took the pen in trembling fingers, and Vader knelt beside her with a barely audible growl. "Come on, girl. We don't have all day!" When she only blinked down at the marriage contract, he snatched her wrist and attempted to force her hand along the parchment. _HIH_ —Ahsoka stabbed the pen at the back of his hand. With a hiss of pain, he withdrew for an instant. An instant was long enough to launch herself over the table and rush for the doors.

Erosik snatched at her veil, but she ripped it from her tiara and hurled it over her shoulder. Her breaths came in short pants, and lactic acid seared at her leg muscles as she tore across the chamber. The coolness of the door handle met her palm and her knees buckled in exhaustion, but she mustered the strength to lug herself to her feet and fling open the exit—

Only to find herself face to face with an elaborate hallway that could not be her escape.

"Princess Ahsoka! As your empress, I _order_ you to halt!"

Ahsoka capitulated to numbness as the blood drained from her cheeks and lekku, Padmé's shouts still a meaningless echo. _No._ This was supposed to be the threshold that admitted her to Vader's secret chamber, not a corridor that still clearly belonged in the simulation!

 _"_ _Ahsoka!"_ came Padmé's voice, and this time, the bite in her tone punctured the shock. Ahsoka's skirts gave a quiet rustle as she turned. She lifted her hands slowly into the air, daring to peer at the empress from beneath her eyelashes, and Padmé's expression twisted into something akin to disgust. "Cease with these childish games," she snapped, "or I will have no choice, Princess, but to collect you myself and remind you of your place."

 _Some never find the exit._ Barriss's words wove vaguely into memory, and Ahsoka cut a pained glance at the open door. But why? Why should an exit prove so difficult to locate? _Unless_ …she lowered her hands and restored eye contact with Padmé, holding her head high to counter the empress's blistering gaze. _Unless, by nature, it could not_ be _located. Unless, rather than ravaging the physical space around her, she should have been seeking within…._

"It's okay," Ahsoka said. "I know you would never betray me, Padmé."

And then she closed her eyes.

An angered scream wracked the air as Padmé's weight slammed against her, plunging Ahsoka backwards into a void she could not see. A rough edge cut against her elbow, and she pressed her fingers to her skin to staunch the bubbling of blood, cracking open one hesitant eye to examine the wound. Instead, she noticed that the cloud of silk wedding skirts had vanished, replaced by the leggings and athletic jacket she had borrowed from Barriss.

 _Vader's hidden chamber._ She had made it.

Erosik's vile touch and Padmé's betrayal barrelled in and out of mind, like in the aftermath of a particularly jarring dream. Ahsoka squeezed her eyes shut and tried to dismiss the memories—no, _not_ memories. _Illusions._ Irrational fears that would never come to pass.

The risk of an enemy catching her here, on the other hand….

She struggled to her feet and tipped back her head, and her jaw nearly dropped open. A glass column twisted toward the ceiling, flickers of torchlight glinting off of its surface in flashes of brazen amber. As she drifted closer to peer through the glass, she noticed the leather-bound spines that characterized paper texts—ancient and priceless in the extreme.

Where would she even begin with such a wealth of secrets at her disposal?

Ahsoka extended an index finger toward the column and gave it a tentative tap, startling backward when a rainbow of colours swept the glass. Most of the hues either fluttered out of sight or evanesced after a few moments, clearing way for a blaze of scarlet that unfurled into a simple message. Her eyes darted across the words—and a shiver chilled her spine.

 _Hello, Princess._

Ahsoka's feet traipsed backwards. She wasn't entirely sure it was of her own volition. "Who _are_ you?" she demanded, but the question left her lips on a whisper. "How do you know me?"

In response, the message flickered before fading from sight, replaced by an array of digital documents. Ahsoka hesitated before swiping her finger along the glass. A new file rotated into view, its deceptively simple title— _Funds_ —displayed across the top of the column. _"I know you, girl."_ The bodiless hiss elicited a sweep of goosebumps along her arms, tickling the back of her neck like a frigid breath of winter wind. _"I know all who enter. I know what you seek."_

Ahsoka hovered her hand near the glass, close enough to easily click open the file, but something like unease froze her in place. She couldn't shake the sense that—

 _"—_ _All you seek comes at a price."_

Her gaze snapped over her shoulder, but nothing—no _one_ —was there. So then _who_ in the Force's name—oh stars, the _Force_. Her breaths quickened as Barriss's words came back to her. _The Bogan will force you to undergo a trial in order to gain access to the chamber._

The Bogan. The Dark Side. The Dark Side of the Force was speaking to _her!_

But the Dark Side did nothing but lie. And she was out of options.

Ahsoka jabbed her index finger at the glass before she could change her mind. A low laugh, like the bray of two boulders grating against one another, poisoned the air, but she forced herself not to hear as the file's contents lit the glass. Along the right hand side, Ahsoka noticed a column of time stamps, and it didn't take her long to realize that many of them dated back to the first month of her coma. Some had even been registered days before Luke and Leia's birth.

Ahsoka scrolled through the list. Only a week and a half after her capture on Mandalore, eighty thousand credits had been transferred from something labelled the "senatorial transportation committee" to military efforts in the Outer Rim, particularly on the planet Tatooine. The Empire had also collected hefty Separatist war reparations each week and funnelled them toward the "palace reconstruction" fund. Billions of credits, in fact, had been drained over many months from certain Senate committees—most of which had names that spoke to a legacy of public service, including "refugee aid", "food banks", and "safe houses"—and had instead been pumped toward militarization, massively expensive projects labelled only by strands of numbers, a smaller fund called "Lars—gratuity", and, of course, "palace reconstruction".

Now she knew how the Empire's coffers could possibly be overflowing so soon after its birth. Vader had _stolen_ that money from the people who desperately needed it so that he—and, as she soon realized in horror, his children, Padmé, and Ahsoka herself—could live in the lap of luxury. But even as the connection spurred on a sick sensation at the back of her throat, it could not compare to her heart's weighty _thud_ at the next pieces of information.

 _Deceased—Reeva Demesne, Galen and Lyra Erso, Anora Fair, Kooib-s Guvar…_ the list stretched on and on. Beneath each name, in small print, was a total of credits owed, either to something designated by the acronym COMPNOR or to an individual—an _assassin_.

And that had only been the first day of those silent murders.

The number of names—and the money associated with them—increased, tapering only after roughly two months had run their course. _Scientists,_ Ahsoka suspected. _Professors. Authors. Librarians. Holojournalists. Intellectuals._ Anyone who refused to accept Vader's warped version of history—or was unfortunate enough to be related to one of the wrongdoers. Her suspicions were confirmed by a data point from around seven and a half months after the Empire's rise, the same day Padmé's niece had been found dead at the hands of an assassin.

 _Deceased—Pooja Naberrie. Twenty thousand credits—Aurra Sing._

That name— _Aurra Sing_ —looked chillingly familiar, but Ahsoka forced herself to file it away for later, still reeling from the enormity of her discovery. It wasn't that she was _surprised_ by the Empire's brutality—she had seen too much for that—but to find proof in a dehumanizing list that so coldly glossed over the story and life behind each name…was distressing.

She scrolled farther down the list, her index finger now quivering against the glass. By the date of Ahsoka's awakening, the number of assassinations had decreased substantially, though the figure shot up again about five months later—the same time as her recapture, she realized. Another factor, too, wove its way into the calculations at this point; sizable sums of money had been siphoned off into a new account marked "psychologists—Princess Ahsoka".

This might not have been too unusual—after all, Vader had to have paid the sadistic "therapists" whom he had entrusted with her "care" somehow—had it not been for the unusual story told by the time stamps. The last deposit into their account had been made only two days ago, even though it had been nearly a fortnight since they had last stepped foot in the palace.

Hadn't it?

The account bore her name, but there was always a possibility Vader had kept the therapists around for another purpose. Ahsoka shuddered to think what that might be. Before she could delve too deeply into her theories, however, the click of steel-tipped boots edged into hearing range, a manmade storm that swelled rapidly in volume from behind the doors of the chamber. Her heart rate took off, thundering out an ominous rhythm as she returned her gaze to the glass—only to find that the documents had vanished beneath her fingertips.

 _It won't be long before Vader's people find a way to circumvent my power shutdown_. Too late, the commander's warning came back to her, and still she startled as that otherworldly whisper rolled through the chamber. _"It seems you have run out of time, my princess."_

"I haven't learned how to reverse my memory loss." Ahsoka straightened her posture and fixed the empty air before her with a fierce glare. "You _will_ show me those documents."

A deep chuckle sounded. _"All you seek comes at a price."_

"Fine!" As soon as that one word, steeped in desperation and rage, escaped her mouth, a numbing dread suffused through Ahsoka's body. Stars, she hadn't meant to say that! What sort of repercussions would her decision have? What _price?_ But the voice, much to her surprise, did not gloat or howl with laughter; a new file simply blinked open on the glass screen, and before she could help it, she let her eyes drift over the passage that glowed before her.

 _Memory Erasure: One of the Sith's most devastating capabilities, almost always inflicts permanent damage on Force-sensitive victim. Cannot be performed on non-Force-sensitives. In extremely rare cases, victim may harness energy from contact with kyber crystal to halt progression of memory loss. Reversal of memory erasure only possible should victim manage to forge potent connection specifically with kyber crystal that previously chose him/her—often, in Jedi's case, his/her lightsaber crystal. Has only ever been accomplished once._

That couldn't be it. Was the screen not working? Ahsoka swiped more vehemently at the glass, but the passage did not scroll downward to reveal additional text. She knew she had to get her hands on a kyber crystal—a crystal that had _chosen_ her. But what did she do then?

Almost at once, her mind flew back to the incident in the treasury—the lightsabers she had found in place of jewellery, the sense of empowerment that had swelled within her as the hilts pressed against her palms, the panic screaming from behind Vader's eyes when he found her with her former weapons in hand. And the _memories_. Just the touch of her skin against the sabre hilt had been enough to bring on flashes and fragments of her dead past.

Maybe, when Vader had grown so enraged at her presence in the treasury, he had not feared the lightsabers would reveal her true history, but rather the crystals housed within.

He had feared that she would inadvertently reverse her own memory loss.

The weight behind the soldiers' steps sent shudders rolling through the floor, and she turned from the glass column with a gasp, unsure whether the shock of her realization or of the troopers' progress had ripped the sound from her throat. _Barriss._ She had to get out of here—now. Her speculations could wait. The glass regained its clear façade as she closed the current file, and then her footfalls pattered the floor as she tore toward the chamber's exit.

Ahsoka half-expected the Dark Side to try to interfere with her flight, but the voice remained shockingly dormant as she slipped back into the Sith Temple's main chamber. From the looks of it, Vader's soldiers had not yet reached this room—her highly attuned montrals must have made them sound closer than they actually were—but Barriss was nowhere to be seen, either. A seed of doubt nestled in her chest, but Ahsoka squashed it and drove herself forward.

The toe of her boot nudged up against something that gave a soft rustle, and she stooped to pick it up. Torchlight spread its spindly fingers along the parchment to reveal a hand-drawn map of the palace. A pathway marked in a bold shade of red snaked from the Sith shrine all the way up to Ahsoka's tower; upon closer examination, she noticed that it passed almost exclusively through the servants' corridors, so as to avoid holocameras and foot traffic.

"Thank you, Barriss," Ahsoka said under her breath. She folded the parchment in half and made for the recommended exit—branded only as _"X"_ on the map. Someone had draped a tapestry over the threshold as a feeble disguise, and though the thick fabric sagged with weight, Ahsoka managed to heave it to the side before backing into the shadows of a stone stairwell—

—Right as the soldiers advanced into the chamber, the tattoo of their march a thunderclap, a scream, an echo that announced their presence long after they came to a uniform halt.

Ahsoka dropped the tapestry with a start. It slumped into place to hide her from view, plunging her into sudden darkness. "Where is the princess?" demanded a male's deep voice.

"The…the princess?" a woman repeated, her tone coloured by a hint of apparent confusion.

Ahsoka clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. _Barriss._ But the commander gave no indication of discomfort as she continued, "I don't pretend to be an expert on security protocol regarding the emperor's children, but I'd expect to find Princess Leia in the nursery—"

"Not His Majesty's daughter. His _sister_. You were planning on escorting her to the gardens?"

"Oh, you mean the Princess _Ahsoka_. Yes. I delivered her back to her rooms immediately after the power outage. Wouldn't want to risk her safety in the midst of such chaos."

 _I delivered her back to her rooms. Immediately._ The subliminal message sharpened into clarity, and the parchment grew damp with sweat in Ahsoka's hands. Barriss had constructed a scenario that would protect Ahsoka from liability, but only if she scurried to her bedchamber now. The officer would likely send a squad of stormtroopers up to her apartments to check that Barriss was telling the truth, and if they didn't find Ahsoka waiting there….

She had already bolted up the first few steps of the gnarled staircase when it occurred to her—even if she _did_ make it to her rooms on time, that wouldn't change the fact that Barriss had been forced to use her officer's codes to initiate the power shutdown. Or that Imperial troops had cornered her in a wing of the palace reserved exclusively for the emperor.

Ahsoka felt as if ice had replaced the blood in her veins. _The banter about Leia. The deliberately slow responses to the officer's demands, imbued with measured confusion._ Barriss did not intend to avoid punishment. She was buying time for Ahsoka to slip away.

"You filthy little traitor!" The officer's roar came too soon, _too soon,_ only moments after Ahsoka's pitiful first attempt at constructing a plan to save her new ally. "Why would you use your codes to create a power outage? Why? What sort of instability did you hope to sow?"

"Captain, forgive me if I don't know what—"

The scream of steel against air. Shots. Shrieks. Silence.

Then Ahsoka felt her feet tripping down the steps beneath her, carrying her toward the tapestry.

"Traitors must be dealt with, Commander." The princess pressed her eye to the sliver of open space between the tapestry and the threshold. All she could make out were the captain's hands, knotted together at his lower back. "In our beloved emperor's name"—he shifted to the side, and a cry of pain sounded as he drove his steel-tipped toe disdainfully into a lump on the ground—"we must eradicate the disease of treason before it spreads. You understand?"

As the captain strode pompously away from the still form at his feet, Ahsoka caught a flash of dark hair. It had spilled haphazardly across the floor, matted with globs of blood that shone deep red in the torchlight. Her lips had fallen open in a silent scream, but a hand still twitched feebly at her side. Ahsoka stared, frozen in helpless rage, as the movement slowed, started up again with frantic intensity, stopped. Then her ailing body sagged, and the last Ahsoka saw of Barriss Offee were those deep blue eyes, bared to the ceiling with the glassy indifference of death.

* * *

 **If anyone was wondering, all of the names on the "deceased" list (i.e. the people Vader had assassinated) are canonical characters. You may have recognized Lyra and Galen Erso, but you can look up the rest if you are curious. Also, I know that references to the "treasury" scene featured prominently at the end of the chapter, so if you would like to revisit that scene, it is at the end of Chapter 4.**

 **Anyway, thank you very much for reading! I am always grateful for reviews and feedback, and favourites/follows are very much appreciated, too. :) I already have a good start on Chapter 30, so hopefully there will be a shorter wait time for the next post...but reviews do help to motivate me. ;)**

 **Love, Isabelle**


	30. Chapter 30

**Hey, welcome back! I am aware this chapter is a bit late. It underwent more revisions than I expected and I am currently at a pre-university summer program, so I have been kept busy with schoolwork and such.**

 **Before I begin, I am going to issue a content warning for violence/domestic abuse toward the end of the chapter. Most occurs off screen, but please take care of yourself and proceed with caution when reading.**

 **Here is a summary to bring everyone up to speed: Last chapter Ahsoka found an unexpected ally in Commander Barriss Offee, who helped her to find a Sith Temple buried deep beneath the Imperial Palace. Within a hidden vault, Ahsoka learned how to halt and even reverse her memory loss: she must forge a "potent connection" with a kyber crystal that has specifically chosen her. However, before she and Barriss could escape from the Sith Temple, Barriss was discovered and killed by an Imperial captain, and Ahsoka is currently racing back up to her rooms before she is also found.** **Also recall that the last time we saw Padmé, she, Rex, and the clones were plotting how to get off of Sullust after its ports were shut down by the Empire.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, and I will answer all reviews at the end.**

* * *

 _All you seek comes at a price. All you seek comes at a price._

The words pounded in Ahsoka's memory as she tore through the servants' corridors, fresh tears burning at her eyes. She _couldn't_ be. She couldn't be dead! She had just claimed Barriss Offee as an ally, and now…now, her blood splattered Ahsoka's hands alongside Lahnya's.

Was this what the voice—the Dark Side—had meant? If Ahsoka had fled the hidden chamber upon the soldiers' arrival, rather than staying to learn how to reverse her memory loss, would Barriss have survived? Had the information she sought cost her new ally her life?

Her hands were clammy with sweat by the time she emerged from the servants' corridors. They opened into an opulent parlour that could have been the inside of a wedding cake, what with the delicately carved wainscoting, tiered crystal chandeliers, and pastel walls. Though she could vaguely identify the room as one of her own, it lacked any familiar warmth; the last time she had stepped foot inside—at least as far as she could remember—had been the day of her awakening, when a shy handmaiden had given her a cursory tour of her new home.

She balled Barriss's map in her fist and walked as quickly as she could toward her bedchamber, mindful of the security cameras now trained on the back of her neck. As she strode past a marble fireplace blazing with flame, Ahsoka let the parchment slip from her fingers. The flames devoured it with an explosion of sparks and a greedy crackle of approval.

She did not let her nonchalant façade drop until she had barrelled into her closet and shut the door. She expected the tears to flood instantly down her cheeks, but they stuck in her throat instead, refusing to budge even as she tried to swallow, speak, breathe. Her hands fumbled as she stripped off her leggings and athletic jacket— _Barriss's_ leggings and athletic jacket—and skimmed through a nearby rack of luxury nightclothes for something to wear.

The first thing that caught her eye was a turquoise dressing gown with pink roses embroidered along the silk. She snatched it off the hanger, more forcefully than was necessary, and yanked it on over her tank top, knotting the sash as hastily as her trembling fingers would allow.

Then from beneath the silence rose the click of soldiers' boots on hardwood.

As soon as she heard them, a single sob wracked her frame. Ahsoka doubled over and clamped a hand over her mouth. Of _course_ it had to happen _now_. Now, when she had to be strong. For Barriss. To honour what she had sacrificed, to ensure she had not died in vain. She shook her head and forced back the tears, even as it felt like the effort might rip her apart.

"Princess Ahsoka? Your Highness?"

She startled. It was the same voice that had gloated at Barriss as she had died. For a moment, Ahsoka saw the glint of blood in her dark hair, the twitching of a hand frantic to grasp on to life…and then her mind went blank. She steadied herself and slipped into her bedchamber.

"I'm here," she announced. Some of the soldiers stiffened in her presence, as was appropriate, but many exchanged poorly veiled sneers with one another. These men—for they _were_ all men, as she quickly noticed in dismay—underestimated their Imperial princess. They thought her weak, delicate, naïve. Good thing she knew how to use that to her advantage.

And someday—someday soon—they would all pay.

"Good evening…Officer," she greeted cautiously.

"Captain, actually," he sniffed. "But I wouldn't expect you to understand the nuances of military protocol, my—" He remembered himself and cleared his throat. "My princess."

Ahsoka dug her fingernails into her palm, tempted to snap that she had once been a commander in the Clone Wars. She had in fact recognized the emblem pinned to his uniform, but she had feared that he would possess exactly this type of attitude and that calling him "Captain"—as Barriss had addressed him—would pique his suspicions.

"Why are you here, Captain?" she said, allowing an edge of impatience to slip through.

"I apologize for the interruption, Your Highness. After the power outage, we came to ensure your safety. Did you receive a visit from Commander Offee earlier this evening?"

Right to the point, then. "Um…yes, in fact, I did. She told me that she had received orders to guard my chambers for the night, but when I expressed an interest in the thunderstorm, she offered to escort me to the palace gardens so that I could see it in person. Why?"

The captain scrunched his nose as he knotted his arms across his chest. "Were you in the hallways when the power cut out, or are our security holos somehow inaccurate?"

She twisted her lips into a half-frown. Of course he would simply disregard _her_ question. "Be mindful of your tone when you speak to your princess, Captain," she reprimanded him matter-of-factly. A twinge of satisfaction fluttered through her chest as he bristled. "Yes, we were in the hallway, but following the shutdown, she brought me back here right away. A bit disappointing, but…" She gave a one-shouldered shrug, tilting her head when the despised captain remained silent. "I'm sorry, Captain. Is…is there something I should know about?"

"Nothing, my—Your Highness."

Ahsoka raised an eyebrow at his slip-up. This was already the second time tonight he had tried to call her "my dear", or something equally patronizing. "Are you quite sure? You seem…distressed." _Tell me, you murderer. Look me in the eyes and tell me you killed her!_

"That is none of your concern." The captain couldn't quite meet her gaze. "I will leave you to your bedtime preparations, Princess. Should I send for a handmaiden to assist you?"

"I expect I should be all right on my own." She just barely ground the words past her teeth. "Thank you for your time, Captain. You and your men may be on your way."

The captain bent awkwardly at the waist, as though uncomfortable at having to bow to her, and signalled for his troops to file out behind him. Ahsoka stood rooted in place for several minutes after they left, her breaths too shallow, too forced, as she half-awaited their return.

Across the backdrop of silence, flashes of the night came back to her with vivid intensity. _Her lips, parted around a silent scream. Her skin, drained of all colour in death. And those eyes…blankly staring out at her former home from inside of a new, unreachable world._

The room grew suddenly colder—or maybe it was only Ahsoka, chilled by the ice that slunk down her spine. She made to tighten her dressing gown, but somehow her arms slipped around her own torso in a fragile hug. She made for the window seat. The aimless patter of her feet against hardwood accentuated the pervasive stillness around her—like the glassy surface of a lake, waiting for the _plunk_ of a skipping stone to precede a glissade of silvery ripples.

She crawled into the window seat, pulled her knees to her chest, and leaned her head against the wall, exactly as she had been positioned when Barriss had found her here. If she closed her eyes and listened to the still-raging storm, she could almost pretend that Coruscant itself was grieving alongside her. A bombardment of raindrops—the planet's own version of tears—and then there was the thunder, a proxy for the screams she could not dare to let loose.

* * *

"We're coming in on Naboo now," Padmé called over her shoulder, furrowing her brow in concentration as she initiated the landing sequence. Kaeden stood a few steps behind her, eyes flickering in subdued amazement as she stared out of the viewport, and Captain Rex sat in the co-pilot's seat. He and his men hadn't exactly been glad to learn that Padmé had an additional two members of her crew to smuggle off of Sullust, including the rather conspicuous prince consort of Alderaan, but they had been able to adjust the plan accordingly.

Back on Sullust, the clone troopers' uniforms had served as perfect disguises for Padmé, Bail, and Kaeden. They had stood at attention behind Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor, grinning beneath borrowed helmets as the captain convinced gullible stormtroopers that all six of the "clones" present were still members of the Imperial Navy. Once Rex had succeeded, it had been relatively easy to get clearance to take one of the Imperial ships to Naboo.

Though Wolffe had removed the vehicle's standard homing beacons, the thought of heading straight to Theed still opened a pit in Padmé's stomach. For all she knew, the current Imperial ships contained more hidden tracking devices than their Clone Wars era counterparts. "I'm going to land in the Lake Country," she informed Rex and Kaeden, "and then we'll travel to Theed by water- and landspeeder. House Naberrie—my family—owns a retreat on the island of Varykino." Without warning, Sola's glazed eyes and laboured last breaths barged into memory, and Padmé tightened her grip on the handlebars as a shiver seized her spine.

After what even she could recognize as an awkwardly long pause, Padmé added, "We can…we can deposit this ship at my family's villa before we leave for Theed." She made the mistake of flicking her gaze over her shoulder and catching Kaeden's concerned stare. The younger girl opened her mouth as if to say something, but Padmé wrenched her gaze back to the viewport. "On the off chance that the Empire is onto us, that should throw them off our tail."

Varykino, as it turned out, was just as beautiful as Padmé remembered, lush with a sweep of greenery that sloped upward toward the peak of the island. Her family's villa, iridescent as mother-of-pearl in the golden sunlight, stretched elegantly along the shoreline, where crystal waters rippled in serenity. For a moment, Padmé almost could have believed herself a child, come to Varykino to spend a luxuriously long summer with Sola and her parents, and the illusion brought her so close to what could never again come to pass that it physically hurt.

She tried to focus on directing the ship toward the landing zone, but her mind kept drifting, caught in a tug-of-war between the past and the future. How Padmé would love to bring Ahsoka, Luke, and Leia here someday. She could set up a nursery for her children and raise them on Naboo. The island's natural beauty would provide solace for Ahsoka, and maybe, in the aftermath of her hellish turn of fate, Padmé could even begin her own recovery. They'd be free of Anakin, free of his possessiveness, free to carve out their own destinies. Together.

But until she rescued Ahsoka, Leia, and Luke from the palace, all of that was fantasy. Fantasy that rose chills along her arms at merely the possibility, but fantasy nonetheless.

Padmé guided the ship into a smooth landing, and behind her, Kaeden took in an awed breath as she looked around. "Wow," she said with an appraising nod. "This is all yours?"

"Well, technically it belongs to my—" _To my parents._ Padmé trailed to a stop as she realized that as the last adult member of House Naberrie, the deeds to Villa Varykino would automatically pass to her. "No, I…I suppose you're right, Kaeden. It would belong to me now."

The door to the cockpit glided open, and Bail Organa swaggered gracefully inside. "Padmé," he said, "someone outside is clearly wondering what an Imperial ship is doing at Varykino."

"What?" she gasped in alarm. "I'd assumed my family's villa would be abandoned!"

Bail came up beside her and indicated a vague figure beyond the viewport. As it hobbled closer to the ship, Padmé could make out an elderly human man in a utilitarian vest and worn blue jeans, and understanding dawned on her. "Oh. I know him, Bail. I'll be right back."

By the time Padmé disembarked the Imperial ship, Paddy Accu, Varykino's caretaker, had nearly made it to the loading ramp. His eyes darted along the Imperial insignia that branded the ship's hull before weaving their way back to her in surprise. "Miss—Miss Padmé?"

She had to crack a smile at the form of address he had used since her childhood, long before her days as queen, senator, or empress. "That's me, Paddy. How have you been?"

"Never mind that! I've been worried sick about you." His tone was almost scolding, and Padmé had to resist the urge to roll her eyes like a little girl. "After what happened to the rest of House Naberrie, I feared you would be next. They've been telling us on the HoloNet that it was an anarchist attack on one of Naboo's most prominent families, but I don't buy it. _My_ bet is that the Empire's behind it all. And then I heard of your return to the Imperial Palace—"

 _"_ _What?"_ The word emerged harsher than she'd intended, and Padmé softened the interruption with a gentle shake of her head. "Paddy, I never went back to Coruscant."

"Perhaps a decoy, then," he suggested after a moment of thought.

"Sabé," she breathed immediately. _Kriff!_ Padmé should have known that her absence would put her girls in danger. "Anakin must have grown impatient for my return. He assumes he needs Empress Amidala by his side to look strong. Otherwise, it would appear he could not best the 'invaders' he labelled as my kidnappers." At least if civilians assumed that Empress Amidala was at the Imperial Palace, it would give Padmé some cover in public. Speaking of which…

She focused her gaze on Paddy's and reached to take his weathered hands in her own. "Paddy, you must promise me that you will not report my presence here to the Empire."

"Miss Padmé," he began, a solemn gleam in his eye, "I have served House Naberrie for decades, and as one of the last members of your family, my loyalty lies chiefly with you. I swear I would never report you to the Empire, nor would I betray you in any other way."

The affection in his voice was so sincere, she found that she whole-heartedly believed him. Padmé released his hands and managed a small smile. "Thank you, Paddy."

"It's my duty, Miss Padmé. You don't have to thank me." He gestured for her to follow him inside. "Come. I'll prepare your rooms so that you can get yourself settled and tidied up."

"Actually," she cut in hesitantly, "I won't be staying for long. I need you to prepare a couple of Gondola speeders. My guests and I are leaving for Theed as soon as possible."

"Theed?" He raised an eyebrow. "I don't mean to judge, Miss Padmé, but…in that?"

She glanced down at the tunic and leggings she had borrowed from Kaeden so long ago, now filthy with dirt, blood, and sweat from the past few days' adventures. She had acquired a gash on her right hand during the chase on Sullust, and it was about time she dressed the wound properly, rather than risking infection by simply wrapping it in a makeshift bandage.

"True, it's not my usual style," Padmé admitted, threading a hand through her matted hair. "And I suppose I should dress the part if I'm hoping for an audience with Isé Sapphira."

"Sapphira? The Princess of Theed? Miss Padmé, what are you up to?"

She shot him a wry grin. "When am I _not_ up to something, Paddy?"

Roughly half an hour later, Padmé stood beneath a shower faucet in an enormous marble washroom, savouring the caress of warm water against her skin. When she stepped into her dressing room, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe with her hair twisted up in a towel, she found Kaeden sorting through racks of gowns. "Anything you like?" Padmé asked.

Many of Queen and Senator Amidala's gowns were still tucked away in Padmé's closets at Varykino, and she had invited Kaeden to choose an outfit to wear to their audience with Princess Sapphira. The younger girl frowned as she examined a gown with a blue velvet bodice and puffy bell sleeves. "I don't know. All of this is a little…ornate for my taste."

"You get used to it. Besides," Padmé added with a mischievous smile, "imagine all of the technology and weaponry I can hide in those skirts if necessary. A properly sewn ballgown is more of an asset than people might think, and Naboo design is some of the best."

The gowns she had worn as Empress Amidala may have been among the most gorgeous she had ever owned, but they had left much to be desired in the defence department. As Padmé ran her fingertips over outfits from her years as queen and senator, each one fitted with a warrior's hidden gadgets, the corners of her lips tugged into a smile. _Hello, old friends._

Though Padmé had to swear up and down that it was more comfortable than it looked, Kaeden finally selected a mauve gown with gold detailing, and the former senator turned her attention to her own ensemble. In the end, the gown she chose was one she had worn only a few times in the Senate. The top layer of midnight blue velvet parted down the centre, revealing gold underskirts and a magnificently jewelled collar. Kaeden helped her to braid her hair, and then Padmé twisted the plaits into a simple figure eight at the nape of her neck, accentuating the style with a sapphire hairpiece. As far as up-dos went, it was nothing compared to Dormé's or Rabé's elaborate handiwork, but it would have to suffice in their absence.

"Padmé, are you sure you're all right? You've been staring out of that window for awhile."

Padmé blinked as she realized that she was indeed hovering in a vestibule that overlooked the balcony where she and Anakin had been married. This particular dressing room had always reminded her of a snow globe, with streaks of sunlight in place of powdery white flakes. Silk banners framed enormous windows that stretched stories high; the ethereal glow of Nabooian sunshine played across the marble floor, almost as if to mock Padmé's melancholy.

"I was thinking earlier that I'd like to bring Ahsoka, Luke, and Leia to Varykino," she said at last. A wistful sigh escaped her lips as she added, "Perhaps we could even make a new life together. You and Miara could live here, too, and maybe Rex and his brothers. Can you imagine the wonder in Ahsoka's eyes if I were to take her out in an airspeeder? Rolling hills, breathtaking scenery…stars, she would love it here. You should have seen her on Alderaan…"

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned to see that Kaeden had approached her. "Is that what this is about?" she whispered. "You're worried about her and your children?"

"I'm always worried about them." Padmé sobered as she remembered what she had really been contemplating earlier, and the journey still ahead of her. "They're the only family I have left."

Kaeden surprised her by gripping Padmé's hands in her own. "I know. That's why I'm here, too. For Miara." She hesitated. "If you ever need to talk about it—what happened to your family, I mean—I'm here to listen. I know from experience that just being heard can help."

Padmé managed a sad smile. "The same goes for you, Kaeden. Always." She angled another glance at the balcony as they released each other's hands. "Could you please excuse me for a moment, though? I have to take care of something before we leave for Theed."

At Kaeden's nod, she gathered her skirts and glided out of the dressing room. As she passed the Room of Morning Mists, where the four men waited together for her and Kaeden, amiable chatter resounded in her ears, punctuated by a ripple of laughter. The knowledge that Bail and the clone troopers could get along should have lightened Padmé's mood. Instead, the echo warped their joy into something so distant that a shiver drifted down her spine.

As she surfaced on the balcony, rays of warm sunlight washed away the chills that had swept her arms. Still, a flutter of anxiety persisted. Padmé crossed to the railing that overlooked Varykino's lake, and velvet skirts whispered against marble. If she closed her eyes, the far-off birdcalls that she and Sola had often strived to identify seemed to ring clearer.

Another memory came to her in the golden stillness, and she shuddered at the image of Anakin's binary hand in hers, the marriage vows that had passed her lips. Both the first kiss and the wedding ceremony had transpired here, almost exactly where she stood now.

A tear rolled down Padmé's cheek, her only warning before a scream shattered the calm.

The rustle of feathered wings filled the air as birds scattered toward the horizon, and Padmé realized that the terrible keening was emanating from _her,_ shot through with lingering grief from Anakin's betrayal and her children's captivity and Ahsoka's torture and her family's deaths. She pounded her left fist against the railing, expecting pain, but her hand had fallen numb.

Shoulders shaking, she hunched over and drew her arms to her chest, and the cries finally died on her lips. Her mouth shaped around a single word, then another: _Anakin, why?_

A silent plea that served no purpose but to torture her with a myriad of "what-ifs". Anakin was gone. There was only Vader. And Padmé knew what she had to do to set the galaxy free.

She locked away the emotions, forced back the tears, and slipped a hand beneath the top layer of her gown. A sheath had been sewn into the silk lining, and as she located the dagger that protruded from it, her hand clenched around the jewelled hilt. On Vader's orders, her parents and niece had been murdered. By Vader's lightsaber, Sola had suffered a brutal death.

Padmé had sworn to avenge them. She was not one to go back on her word.

* * *

The next morning found Ahsoka marching through the palace hallways as rapidly as her legs could carry her—lekku bouncing freely around her shoulders, lilac skirts sweeping out behind her in a hurricane of embroidered silk. Dormé clutched two fistfuls of velvet to her chest, lifting the hem of her handmaiden's robes so that she could keep up. A hint of guilt winged through Ahsoka's chest, but she hurtled forward nonetheless. To slow down would be to allow for an instant of idleness, a breeding ground on which fear could fester and infect her.

The last time she had shown her face in the treasury, she had borne the brunt of Vader's wrath. And though she couldn't honestly imagine he still kept her lightsabers—and her kyber crystals—within the Empire's coffers, she could think of nowhere else to begin her search. Worse yet, time was not on her side. Her etiquette tutor thought she and Dormé had stepped out to adjust an improperly fitted corset, so if they were not back in ten, maybe fifteen minutes….

Ahsoka drew to a sudden stop, and Dormé staggered up behind her. Broken voices ambled down the hallway with a vaguely familiar cadence. She let her eyes flutter closed, narrowing her perception to only the sounds that floated around her. The patter of shoe soles along marble corridors, the crinkle of velvet as Dormé fiddled absentmindedly with her robes…and a shifting chorus of murmurs that drifted from down the hall. Ahsoka latched on to the voices as best she could, straining her montrals to sharpen distant mutterings into coherent words.

"…Majesty, as we discussed…deals to foster…concerning Princess Ahsoka…"

Concentration shattered into razor-edged shards, mangling her already twisting stomach. "They're talking about me," she hissed at Dormé. "I _have_ to get closer!"

The corners of Dormé's lips turned down, and Ahsoka realized that with poorly attuned human hearing, perhaps the handmaiden had not picked up on the voices at all. But instead of pressing for more information, she only raised a sculpted eyebrow and said, "Go."

Ahsoka swallowed a response and nodded, knowing that the fewer words were exchanged between the two of them, the safer they both would be. She took her skirts in hand and made as discreetly as she could toward the source of the voices: a vaulted threshold that framed a pair of stately oak doors, each branded with the carving of a crown. As she slipped into the tiny vestibule between the hallway and the double doors, she pressed her back to the wall and risked a glance in Dormé's direction. The handmaiden was already gone.

"…trade connections and precious gemstones available in exchange for the Empire's favour. As you will recall, Crulius is located along the Rimma and Perlemian Trade Routes." The words—King Seklio's words—rang clearly now. Ahsoka examined the doors and found her original suspicion had been correct: though they had clearly been fashioned with soundproof qualities in mind, the design had been tailored to human ears rather than Togrutan montrals.

"We set the groundwork at the ball a few nights ago," King Seklio continued pompously, as if this were his life's accomplishment. "All that remains now is to sort out the finer details."

"But Vivio is to be the next King of Crulius." It took Ahsoka a moment to recognize Princess Aedlyna's voice, interlaced with a hint of cunning. "He has more restrictions than someone of Erosik's station. Surely we cannot marry him to a girl who must remain on Coruscant?"

At first, the words hovered harmlessly, delicately, in the infinite space between Ahsoka and the consultants on the opposite side of the doors. Distant. Inconsequential.

Then she realized that Aedlyna was talking about _her_.

Breathless panic crowded out the air in her lungs. The icy kiss of marble seared her knees, even though she couldn't remember her legs giving out from beneath her. _Vader. Was marrying her off. To Vivio._ She thought of the devious glimmer in the prince's eyes as he had flirted with her at the ball, and repulsion curled deep in her chest, wrenching a shudder down her spine. Just the thought of him laying hands on her was enough to make her want to scream.

But why should she even be surprised? Vader had proven, time and again, that he was not above using her as a pawn to get whatever it was that he wanted—even if, or perhaps _especially_ if, he knew it would make her miserable. A derisive laugh burned at the back of her throat. That didn't mean she wasn't sick of being treated like a bargaining chip!

"Ahsoka is _not_ leaving the Imperial Palace." Emperor Vader's voice emerged as a deep growl, warped by his mask's infamous modulator. "Especially after recent events—"

"We would take excellent care of her, Your Majesty," Queen Lythéa challenged curtly. "I don't see why she shouldn't live on Crulius if she is to be queen upon Vivio's ascension."

 _Queen of Crulius._ Ahsoka numbly turned the words over in her brain, and her spine jumped with another shudder. No. That could not belong to her. _Not_ her! She didn't even want it!

"Mother, we should not argue with the emperor." Aedlyna spoke in what even Ahsoka could identify as faux innocence. "If he believes his sister should remain on Coruscant with him, then we must respect his wishes. I'm sure we could find some way to accommodate him…."

Vivio's voice sliced into the conversation like a blade. _"What_ are you suggesting, Aeda?"

"Well, if you were to remain here to marry the emperor's sister and become an Imperial prince, I would of course be willing to take up the mantle of crown princess of Crulius…"

Silence crushed the conversation at hand, and Ahsoka's pulse pounded at a frenetic rate. Vader was not the only one who had used her. An image emerged from the foggy recesses of memory: Aedlyna grilling her with incessant questions during Ahsoka's visit to her guest suite—were she and her brother close? Had she ever left the planet without his supervision?

She had _known_. She had known, based on Ahsoka's responses, that Vader would not allow her—and, by extent, her future spouse—to move out of the Imperial Palace, perhaps presenting an opportunity for Aedlyna to challenge her older brother's claim to the Crulian throne.

"Absolutely not," Vivio barked, and despite herself, a flicker of hope hummed in Ahsoka's chest. Of course Vivio would not sacrifice his future as King of Crulius without a fight, and Vader would do everything in his almost infinite power to keep his supposed sister under his own roof. Maybe they would simply call off the wedding and find another way to solidify the trade deals.

"I agree," came King Seklio's voice. "Vivio is my heir, Aedlyna. You know this."

"We could always alternate, Your Majesty," Queen Lythéa offered smoothly. "If your sister is to one day take my place as queen, she and my son must be married on Crulius. Still, that does not mean she cannot come to Coruscant for extended visits when you deem fit."

Ahsoka's gleam of optimism instantly died out, sending ripples of anguish through her chest.

"I suppose we could make such an arrangement work," Vader contributed at last. "One thing, however—I will be sending a contingent of Imperial guards along with Princess Ahsoka to protect her against abduction. I fear she has become a considerable…target."

Translation: _Even on Crulius, she will still be my prisoner._

"Of course, Your Imperial Majesty. Though I can assure you that our royal guards on Crulius are expertly trained. They will prove equally adept at keeping your sister out of harm's way."

"I would expect nothing less, King Seklio. But surely it does not hurt to take extra precautions."

Ahsoka grew fixated on drumming her fingertips against the floor, even as her entire body burst with an upswell of anxiety. _You are_ not _going to cry, Tano,_ she ordered herself—but then, out of nowhere, a flash of Barriss's bloody hair and lifeless eyes came back to her. The world blurred and voices thinned into echoes and in an instant she was lightyears away from this place.

Blood roared and pulsed through her montrals, crowding out all logical thought, all meaning, until a baritone rumble broke through. "Prince Vivio, if you would do the honours…"

"Your Majesty, wait. Shouldn't—shouldn't Princess Ahsoka be here?"

Ahsoka listlessly dragged her head upright at the sound of Aedlyna's voice. Somewhere within her, a vague flame of surprise flickered, curious at her willingness to interrupt the emperor.

"That will not be necessary, Your Highness." A hiss frosted the air, the vocal modulator's equivalent of a sigh. "I shall simply sign the contract on my sister's behalf."

If Vader's declaration didn't yank Ahsoka from her pseudo-trance, the hand on her collar most certainly did. A cry of surprise passed her lips as she was snatched off her feet by her bodice. The high collar of her gown tightened around her neck, nearly blocking her breaths, and she thrashed in a fruitless attempt to wrench herself from his grasp. A sharp knock echoed against wood, and then, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Your Majesties, Your Highnesses, but…"

Ahsoka turned her head far enough to catch glimpse of a fully suited Vader, armour gleaming as slickly as black oil, and the slack-jawed expressions of the Crulian royals. The messenger at the door continued in a monotone: "Grand Moff Tarkin sent us, Your Majesty. He learned from the security monitors that the princess was becoming a little too curious for her own good."

Vader tilted his head toward the man who had Ahsoka by the collar. "Drop her," he ordered matter-of-factly. Tarkin's crony obliged at once, releasing her with a shockingly gentle hand, and she reached to rub at her neck. "Tell me why you are not in your lessons, Ahsoka."

She widened her eyes in a way that she knew emphasized her youth. "I just had to—"

"Never. Mind." Though she couldn't see his face, Ahsoka could imagine the twist of his lip into a scowl, the creases that tightened around his yellowing eyes whenever he shot her a scathing glare. "Excuse me for a moment, King Seklio. Ahsoka, you're coming with me."

He seized her by the collar and dragged her along behind him, plowing undeterred through the halls even when he came upon clusters of servants. They would invariably scatter down the middle with horrified gasps, and Ahsoka might occasionally meet a fearful stare—eyes wide enough to devour half of a person's face, mouth dropped into a tall _O_ of surprise.

Vader flung open an oak door like it weighed nothing at all and hurled Ahsoka inside. She landed in a heap on the floor, coughing, right hip throbbing from a sharp collision with the hardwood. As she tried to lift herself onto her hands and knees, she caught a glimpse of Vader towering overhead, and her heart skittered into a frantic pace as unbidden memories of the treasury rushed back to her. A quiet "no" unconsciously escaped her lips.

The door banged shut, and Ahsoka heard the click of a lock before the emperor turned to face her. With an icy _hiss,_ the mask slid off to reveal a face shadowed by anger. Vader slammed the helmet onto the nearest table, sending violent convulsions rocketing through the floor.

"Well, Ahsoka, you tell me." He spat her name, the rage in his tone twisting the words into nearly unrecognizable forms of themselves. "Where the hell should I even kriffing begin?"

"You're sending me to Crulius." She firmed her lips to battle back the panic that threatened as she said those words aloud. "Why don't you start _there,_ Your Majesty?"

His shoulders hunched with uneven breaths as madness stole across his features. "Don't you _dare_ speak to your emperor like that!" he roared, swooping down to grasp her chin in his mechanical hand. _"Ever!_ Or I'll have to teach you to show some kriffing respect!"

"'Respect'? You honestly think I could _respect_ you? Because last I checked, you're selling me to Crulius in exchange for trade routes and precious gemstones. Do I have that right?"

He tossed her back to the ground like a doll that no longer interested him. "I could have kept you at the palace as a servant girl, Ahsoka. Would you have enjoyed that more? Spending every day of your life at my beck and call? It certainly would have been easier on my part."

"Interesting," she snapped. "That sounds exactly like how you're treating me now."

Vader's eyes darkened to amber, and Ahsoka's hands were at her throat before she could process what was happening. Her vision swam with inky darkness, and Vader's face spotted before her eyes. "N-no," she managed in a gasp, the word pleading and horrible, but it was impossible to see whether Vader had taken any twisted satisfaction in her begging.

Breathless eons ticked past, lightheadedness dragged down her eyelids…and then something smashed against her back lek with a prolonged _craaack_. She opened her eyes to find herself pinned against a wall, telekinetically bound in place by Vader's outstretched hand.

"I'm going to tell you a little story, Ahsoka," he purred. "Purely fictional, of course."

He drew closer and she squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her back against the wall as if she might be able to melt into it. "There was once a foolish young man who took a teenaged girl as his student," Vader said. He trailed a gloved hand along her cheek, refusing to withdraw until she had flinched away. "He taught her everything he knew, sacrificed everything he had to protect her, and finally the day came when she was to prove her loyalty to him."

Ahsoka blinked open her eyes in time to see Vader hurl a vase at the opposite wall, losing his telekinetic grip on her in the process. She collapsed to her knees with a wince as the scream of shattering porcelain pierced her sensitive montrals. "And she _left,"_ Vader grunted. "He needed her and she _left_ him, and in her absence, he found himself coerced down a dark path that was not within his power to stop." He whipped around to face her with such force that locks of hair flew into a blaze of dirty blonde, aptly framing a face contorted with the pain of old wounds. "You think me a villain, Ahsoka. A monster. But everything before you is of your own making."

"You're blaming _me?"_ she said hoarsely. "For this?" She gestured vaguely at the armour that encased his body, branding him as Emperor Vader, before dropping her gaze to her own ensemble. The silver embroidery along the hem of her gown glittered like a knife's blade in the chandeliers' glow. "I did not make these choices for you, Your Majesty," she spat.

"You _abandoned_ me! And that's choice enough." She tried to stand, but he forced her back to the floor with a kick to her stomach. She gasped in an attempt to usher air into her lungs as he shouted, _"NO!_ You stay there, where you belong. At my _feet."_ His lip curled into an animalistic snarl. "You left me once. You're _never_ leaving again! Not of your own volition, anyway."

Terror prickled the backs of her arms as she rose her gaze to his. He was insane, truly _insane_. His eyes alone looked so deranged that simply the sight of them kicked her survival instincts into high gear. _Run!_ pounded on repeat in her mind. Any second now he would snap, and with an easy scapegoat lying before him, there was no telling what he would do to her.

Ahsoka ripped herself off of the ground and bolted for the doors, but Vader snatched her by the waist as she tightened her fists around both handles. She rattled the locked doors as forcefully as she could and screamed until her throat was raw, praying for someone to hear.

And how could they _not?_ But moments passed and still nobody came for her.

"No one will dare interrupt us until they know I'm finished with you." Vader's whisper thrummed in the air between them like a low note plucked from a string instrument. "And I'm _not."_

Ahsoka wrenched herself from his grip as she released the door handles, swinging her leg into a fan kick that struck Vader across the face. He instinctively clutched his forehead in one hand, which gave her the necessary second to skid past him and lift a dagger from his belt. She wheeled to face him as he recovered, clutching the blade out in front of her.

"Now," she said, voice steady despite the fear and rage that surged through her veins, _"you_ tell _me_. Tell me all about your decision to ship me off to Crulius like some sort of offering!"

"As if you could understand," he scoffed. "You shouldn't have heard what you did."

"No, I should have been _in_ that meeting!" With every word, it felt as if someone were tearing out a piece of her chest. She flung her free arm through the air for emphasis. "Don't you think I should at least get to sign my own marriage contract? This is _my_ life, not yours!"

He tipped his head to the side, watching her with a strange glow in his eyes. "I don't understand why you're so upset about this, Ahsoka. By becoming Prince Vivio's wife, you have the honour of bringing even more wealth, prestige, and power to your Empire. My marriage to Padmé affords me an alliance with the Naboo, which has only strengthened since I replaced Apailana with a queen whose loyalty lies with me. Now, installing my younger sister on the Crulian throne will forge a nearly unbreakable bond between myself and the Elder Houses."

Her grip slackened slightly on the dagger as she processed the meaning of his words. The Elder Houses were made up of all of the hereditary royal families throughout the galaxy, and Core Worlds such as Crulius were some of their most influential members. If the Elder Houses were to swallow Vader's lies about galactic history, the planets they ruled would follow suit—and, eventually, the galaxy as a whole. "You're _using_ me," she managed at last in a snarl.

"Am I?" He raised an eyebrow. "I prefer to think of it as being…resourceful."

The word had hardly left his lips when she launched herself at him, dagger arcing through the air in a blinding flash of silver. She aimed for his neck, the only area of exposed skin, but the tip of the blade landed instead against an armoured shoulder. She grunted and collapsed to the ground, losing her grip on the dagger. A _clatter_ sounded as the weapon tumbled over Vader's shoulder, his armoured frame a barricade that blocked it from her reach.

"That was very ill-advised, Princess," he observed dryly.

In an instant he was on the ground, one knee shoved against her stomach to keep her in place. Ahsoka shot out her left hand in an attempt to grasp the dagger, but he snatched her wrist in his mechanical hand and twisted. She nearly screamed at the terrible _snap_ that sounded, even if adrenaline and endorphins were for now keeping the pain at bay. Still, she felt it like an undercurrent, a shadow, slinking through the bone as it waited for its chance to pounce.

As if breaking her wrist weren't enough, Vader grabbed her by the neck, digging his mechanical fingers into her skin. A growl bobbed to the forefront of her rapidly blackening consciousness: "Now how does _that_ feel, Princess? _You_ enjoy being targeted for murder, you—?"

A bolt of electricity fizzled through her body. Golden light broke through the darkness that had crowded out her vision, and her veins hummed with new energy. As Vader dropped her, startled, Ahsoka's right hand grew suddenly heavy, weighted by the press of metal. Now she could vaguely remember, as he had choked her, reaching for a weapon along his belt—

Her body had become a vessel for a cry, a plea, a prayer, and she shuddered under the intensity of the demands. They were calling for her. They had _chosen_ her. But who—or what—were 'they'? Even after she had struggled to her feet, a numb moment passed before she could recognize the weapon in her palm, its silver hilt marked with uniform stripes of black.

 _Vader's lightsaber._

A flash of motion in the corner of her eye—the back of his hand—and then she was gagging on her own blood, clenching her good hand into a fist. Her pulse tripped; no icy bite of metal against her skin, and a gleam of silver from across the room. The force of Vader's slap must have torn the lightsaber from her palm—she thrashed as he shoved her against the wall—

"Don't touch that!" His bellowed order broke up ragged breaths. _"Ever!"_

"Why _not?"_ she demanded around a mouthful of blood.

She didn't expect an answer, and she didn't get one. Instead, Vader used telekinesis to wrench a pair of fireplace tongs into his grasp. He rose them above his head and shards of chandelier light rebounded off of the metal, flashing brilliantly in her vision along with memories—his rage at finding her in the treasury, a kyber crystal's capacity to end or reverse memory loss—and she had just enough time to gasp in understanding before the tongs came crashing down.

* * *

She woke minutes or days or months later and nearly dropped back into unconsciousness. But pain cracked down on her left wrist like a hammer, and her eyes ripped open on instinct.

With a guttural moan, Ahsoka tried to pull herself into a sitting position. A pair of hands found her shoulders and guided her back into a mountain of feather pillows. "Take it easy, Princess."

Her eyes took a moment to focus on Eirtaé's face: features twisted into a mask of panic, strands of blonde hair plastered with sweat across her forehead. Dormé waited a few steps behind her, hands clasped in a more composed manner, but the purse of her lips and the crease between her brows betrayed her concern. "What—what happened?" Ahsoka slurred.

Eirtaé bit her lip and avoided Ahsoka's gaze, but Dormé replied with characteristic bluntness. "The emperor beat you senseless." A current of rage writhed beneath her words.

"Wh-what," Ahsoka said numbly. She hated that it didn't even sound like a question.

Eirtaé reached to set a comforting hand on her right lek, but she pulled back as Ahsoka hissed in pain. "Oh, Princess, I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You—you didn't," Ahsoka lied through her teeth. "Where am I?"

"Your Highness, you should get some more rest before we delve into—"

"Where. Am. I."

Eirtaé shared a poignant look with Dormé over her shoulder. "Empress Amidala's suites," the brunette disclosed at last, splintering the tension. "You should be safe here for now."

Ahsoka eased herself tentatively onto her side to examine her surroundings, peeling away silk and lace coverlets in the process. A gold canopy stretched the width of the four-poster bed upon which Dormé and Eirtaé had placed her. Windows wreathed the domed ceiling, framing tantalizing pockets of sky that hovered countless stories from reach. Tiny rainbows, scattered by crystal chandeliers, accentuated Nabooian luxuries that adorned the bedchamber below.

Another surge of pain shuddered through her left wrist, and she bit her lip to choke back a scream. Eirtaé must have read the tension in her body language, though, because she rolled Ahsoka onto her back and drew the coverlets to her chin. "Please, Princess. Sleep."

Ahsoka's mouth dropped into a silent gasp. _Sleep._ "Oh no, _no…,"_ she moaned.

A frenzied flicker lit Eirtaé's eyes, but it was gone quicker than it had come. "Okay, okay, shh…" She took Ahsoka's good hand and squeezed. "Dormé is going to bring painkillers."

"No, it's not…" A ragged inhale. A muted sob. She heard these sounds as if they came from someone else. _Sleep,_ Eirtaé had said. And at long last, Ahsoka remembered the ramifications of her lapse in consciousness—or, at least, what the ramifications _should_ have been. Because as she tore through her memories, scouring for the inevitable patch of forgetfulness…

 _Nothing._ Nothing, as far as she could tell, was gone.

"That…that's impossible," she said under her breath.

Dormé approached with a bottle of painkillers. "Princess, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing." But of course it wasn't. The hum of electricity against her skin, the way it had looked, felt, even _tasted_ golden, and the melodic cacophony of thousands of tiny voices—choosing _her,_ pleading for _her_ to save them! The lightsaber's hilt slick in her palm, as if to match the oily sheen of Vader's armour. His rage. Fear. _"Don't touch that! Ever!"_ The Sith vault's promise: _victim may harness energy from contact with kyber crystal to halt progression of memory loss._

Energy. As in _electricity_. Electricity from the kyber crystal at the core of Vader's lightsaber…

Her next breath sailed in on a ragged inhale. _Could it be?_

"Eirtaé, Dormé!" The bite of a woman's voice jerked Ahsoka's head upright. The handmaidens had already sunk into deep curtsies, but Ahsoka lifted her eyes to the woman's face to find that she was not angry—simply startled. As Sabé clipped inside, her skirts' hue slid from teal to aquamarine and back again under the lights, and silk billowed around her like a miniature ocean. "Would either of you care to explain what in the galaxy is happening here?"

A tremor hovered just beneath the surface of Sabé's tone, a hair's width away from the breaking point. Her eyes, seemingly by chance, fell upon Ahsoka, and her skin blanched to take on an almost papery quality. "Oh, no," she breathed. She had answered her own question.

Dormé was the first to rise. "Emperor Vader discarded her on the floor of a sitting room," she said in unrestrained disgust. "Unconscious. I found her and brought her here."

Sabé squeezed her eyes shut as if to drive the image from her head. Then, with a fragile exhale, she hiked up her skirts for a climb—Ahsoka realized now that the bed was mounted on a dais—and sat on the mattress beside her. "Do you remember what happened?"

Ahsoka stared unblinkingly at the canopy until it blurred into a smear of gold. "He's marrying me off. To Prince Vivio. I tried to argue…" She dropped her voice, and Sabé took a hint and leaned closer. "You should have seen the look in his eyes, Empress. It was…murderous."

Sabé hummed low in agreement. "Do you want me to let you sleep? Or…"

The decoy empress arched an eyebrow, and Ahsoka realized that she was really asking about their next course of action—in plainer terms, whether or not Ahsoka wished to retaliate. "I don't know that I can," she ventured, watching Sabé's expression carefully. "Sleep, I mean."

"Hmm." Sabé gave a pensive nod. "I figured as much." She tugged down the coverlets, frowned, and added, "Would you prefer to borrow one of my gowns before you go?"

"One of your…" Ahsoka followed her gaze and understood what she meant. Her lilac skirts were riddled with tears and slits, silk shredded and embroidery unravelled beyond recognition. The hint of a shiver prodded at her spinal cord. "Yeah, that might be a good idea."

Sabé and Eirtaé helped Ahsoka out of bed, and Dormé hastily pulled up a chair. She sat down in front of a full-length mirror that reflected back to her a map of bruises. They snaked along her arms and lekku, her right cheek, the dip between her montrals—and around her throat.

Ahsoka stared stoically at the mirror for a moment, but murder flickered behind her eyes. He had tried—twice—to marry her off to men who treated her poorly. He had stolen her memories. He had tortured her. Hit her. Hunted her. Threatened, manipulated, and beaten her.

A growl scraped the back of her throat. Never again. _Never._

Dormé shook a couple of painkillers into her palm and gave her a glass of water. When Sabé returned, it was with one of Padmé's gowns in hand. Ahsoka shook out rosewood skirts and a beam of light flashed off of the silk, lending the fabric a fiery luster, red as flame and blood and battle—and then the skirts shifted, and the fabric dulled to the same dark pink. But only minutes later, as Dormé and Eirtaé strapped her into the ballgown, Ahsoka saw that the V-neck and butterfly sleeves unashamedly revealed every bruise he had left on her body.

Sabé, she realized, had chosen this particular gown for a reason.

As Ahsoka left Padmé's suites and hurtled down palace corridors, she felt the skirts licking her ankles like plumes of fire. She received many an anxious glance from servants as they hurried past her in the hallway, and she realized rumours must have spread of her encounter with Vader. She remembered rattling the doors, screaming. No one had come for her.

But apparently they had still talked.

Lyria was in Ahsoka's room when she arrived, and at the sight of her Imperial princess, she nearly dropped a perfume bottle in shock. Even though she gave a tentative curtsy, the guilty flush of her lekku told Ahsoka everything she needed to know. "Your Highness—"

"Get out," Ahsoka snapped, and without protest, Lyria darted from the bedchamber. After a seconds-long wait to ensure that the handmaiden really had left, Ahsoka stormed into her refresher, retrieved the comlink, and punched in a frequency with her uninjured hand. She held her breath until another figure flickered to life, blonde hair tinted blue in holographic form.

Nadila gasped in horror as she took in Ahsoka's bruises. _"Princess?_ What happened?"

"No time to explain," Ahsoka snarled, clenching her good hand into a fist. "You were right all along. We have to fight fire with fire. And I want this whole damn place to burn."

* * *

 **For those of you who may have forgotten, Nadila is the daughter of King Caarino of Chandrila (whom Vader put on the throne) but she is in league with Ahsoka and Princess Isé Sapphira (Naboo) to bring down the Empire. Also, Paddy Accu, Varykino's caretaker, is actually a canonical character and appeared for about two seconds in _Attack of the Clones_. You can look him up on Wookieepedia!**

 **Nameless: Thank you! I honestly laughed out loud at "How to get your memories back after your crazy former Jedi Master decided to erase them 101", haha. I did feel a bit guilty for killing off Barriss, though at least she managed to redeem herself before her death. Thank you again for your kind words. :)**

 **Darth Agony: To quote Luke Skywalker indeed! To answer your question, yes, Vader probably would have wanted to interrogate Barriss...but the captain who found her doesn't want to have to report to his emperor that another officer snuck past his watch and entered a restricted area of the palace. At the time, murdering her for "treason" seemed like the safest way to save his own neck. Though we will see just how well this turns out for him when Vader finds out that he killed her...**

 **donutstar123: Thank you! I agree, I actually would like more Obi-Wan in this story too! I didn't realize until I saw your review that it has been since Chapter 17 since he made an appearance. :( Fortunately, I actually have plans to bring him back into the plot line very soon (possibly with a scene from his POV in the next chapter, in fact). So keep your eyes peeled for that. Thank you again for your review. :)**

 **-Isabelle**


	31. Chapter 31

**I am so sorry it has taken me this long to update. My family has been undergoing a lot of medical difficulties.**

 **On a happier note, this is the last chapter before all of the action and excitement kick into gear, and we enter the last act of this story.**

 **The beginning of this chapter actually summarizes what has happened recently, but here is a quick reminder of what is not mentioned: Barriss brought Ahsoka to the Sith Temple beneath the palace, where the latter discovered the secret to reversing her memory loss (i.e. forging a potent connection with a kyber crystal that has chosen her). However, Barriss was killed by an Imperial captain, and only Ahsoka managed to escape. Also, the last time we saw Padmé, Kaeden, Bail, and the clones, they were preparing to meet with Princess Sapphira of Theed, whom they hope will help them to rescue Ahsoka, Luke, and Leia from the Imperial Palace on Coruscant.**

 **I am also issuing a content warning for references to violence and sexual harassment in** **this chapter. Please, take care of yourselves while reading.**

 **As always, I do not own Star Wars, and reviews will be answered at the end. Thank you for your support. :)**

* * *

By the time Padmé and her crew arrived in Theed, twilight had painted ribbons of darkness along the Palace Courtyard. Bail and Rex slipped out of the back of her covered landspeeder, and she powered off the engine before following them. Kaeden, Wolffe, and Gregor had already disembarked their own speeder, so Padmé gestured for everyone to follow her.

Day was rapidly draining into night, and foot traffic along the Palace Plaza had all but disappeared. Padmé and her team strode down the walkway with little difficulty, but as they arrived at the entry to Theed Palace, she found herself face to face with the blaster barrels of at least thirty royal guards. Padmé lifted her hands into the air and offered a smile.

"Hello," she said pleasantly. "I'm Padmé Amidala, and I'm here to turn myself in."

Kaeden gasped beside her, but at Padmé's calm glance she too threw up her hands. The guards had just begun to lower their blasters when a familiar figure—tall and dark-skinned—jostled his way through the crowd. His handsome features, save for the occasional wrinkle, had not changed, which made the sight of him in Imperial uniform all the more jarring.

"Moff Panaka." Padmé kept her tone chillingly polite. "Long time, no see."

"I thought that might be you, Amidala," he said, but to her surprise, he came across as more exasperated than angry. "Who else has your habit of marching on Theed Palace?"

"Indeed." Padmé's lips quirked into a bitter smile. "I came to turn myself in."

"Don't insult my intelligence. The Queen Amidala I knew never would have given up so easily."

"Perhaps. But I'm not Queen Amidala anymore, Governor, now am I?"

Panaka crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "What does that matter? You're still _Padmé_ Amidala. Queen, senator, empress…it makes no difference. I know you."

"Very well," Padmé mused. "To a certain extent, you are correct. I do have one condition: if I let you take me in, you must turn me over _not_ to Queen Kylantha, but to Princess Sapphira."

Panaka's fingertips brushed the hilt of his holstered gun, and the palace guards behind him hefted their blasters. "In case you have forgotten, Your Majesty, you are surrounded. Empress or not, you have no say in whether we take you in nor to whom we report your presence."

"For someone who claims to know me so well, I'm shocked by how much you underestimate me." Padmé reached for the dagger strapped beneath her top layer of skirts, and Panaka's eyes followed her hand. He had been too ingrained in Queen Amidala's security detail to miss what such an action implied. "Can't you grant me this one favour—for old times' sake?"

For what felt like hours, the tension loomed so heavily that Padmé didn't even dare to blink. She grasped the hilt of her dagger in her left hand and located the gown's escape switch with her right. In case of a physical skirmish, the button would allow her to shed the cumbersome outer layers of her ensemble, leaving only her battle suit and gear intact. But then Panaka lifted his hand from his blaster and backed down, motioning for the palace guards to do the same. "Very well, Amidala. I'll take you to the princess, and she can decide our next course of action."

Padmé gave a terse nod and followed him into a gleaming hallway of pink marble. The tentative footfalls behind her evidenced her crew's pursuit. Vaulted corridors gave way to marginally simpler halls, lit by stars that shimmered past the tall windows. _The southwest wing._ Though Queen Amidala had often taken refuge here, Padmé had discovered her favourite area of the palace as Princess of Theed. The southwest wing led into the princess's private apartments, which had made it terribly convenient to shuttle back and forth between the two.

Panaka strode to the doors of an office that Queen Amidala had sometimes used as a receiving chamber, though only ever to host her closest advisors. He motioned for Padmé, Kaeden, Rex, and the rest to stay out of sight, then rapped a fist against the oak. From inside, a guard swung open a door, dipped her head into a respectful nod, and stepped back to admit him.

"Moff Panaka." A melodic voice—not unwelcoming but not particularly warm, either—drifted from the office as Panaka disappeared inside. "I was just about to retire for the night."

"Forgive me, Your Highness. I have a development I must bring to your attention."

"Oh?" Princess Sapphira's voice carried a hint of curiosity.

Padmé took that as her cue to enter, and save for the shuffling of the others behind her, silence collapsed around them. In Sapphira's dark eyes, twin flashes of recognition and shock.

"Good evening, Your Highness," Padmé said almost flatly.

An instant passed and then Princess Isé Sapphira—calm, composed, always sure of her next course of action—returned. The alarm left her eyes; her posture straightened; she clasped the armrests of her chair as if they were the scrolls of a throne. And they might as well have been. A tiara rose regally from the princess's crown of braids, and her dark skin glowed golden beneath the chandelier light. Frothy lace wove along her cream-coloured gown, and it made her seem almost angelic, as if she could easily rise from her seat and bob along on thin air.

 _She_ could _be a kind of angel,_ Padmé thought desperately, _if she would only agree to help me._

Panaka cleared his throat and said, "Presenting Empress Padmé Amidala."

"Actually," Padmé corrected him, "I go by 'General Amidala' now." She took a step forward and locked eyes with Princess Sapphira. "General and leader of the Rebel Alliance."

"You always were an overachiever, weren't you?" The voice came from behind a thick marble column, and as its owner stepped out of the shadows, light brushed her face to reveal—

"Mariek?" Padmé gasped.

Captain Mariek Panaka, once head of Senator Amidala's security detail, offered a mirthless smile. "The one and only," she deadpanned. Her eyes flicked briefly to her husband and something like concern crossed her face. Padmé didn't have time to dwell on it before Mariek's gaze relocated hers. "It's been awhile, _General_ Amidala. How have you been?"

"I might be better if a sadistic emperor and Sith Lord didn't have my only remaining family in his grasp." Padmé cut a glance at Sapphira. A crease furrowed the princess's brow, but otherwise her expression remained unreadable. "Then again, I was once Queen Amidala of Naboo, now restored to my homeworld. Perhaps I'll find allies here, amongst my own people."

Before Princess Sapphira could even respond, Panaka's gun was against Padmé's head. His hand trembled violently as he said, "Just give me the order to arrest her, Your Highness."

"Quarsh!" Mariek cried. Sapphira rose halfway from her chair in a flutter of lace, fingertips still at delicate rest on the ornately carved scrolls. The gun clattered and moaned beside Padmé's ear, as if it too could not bear the thought of harming her. Panaka's hand shook, shook, shook.

"She came here to turn herself in, Princess. She told me so at the southern entry, though I was to promise to bring her to you rather than Queen Kylantha." His voice dropped to a husky plea. "Your Highness, I beg this of you. As a subject of the Galactic Empire, it is your duty to—"

"Shut the doors, Moff Panaka. Turn off the cameras. We are to be alone."

For an infinitesimal moment, perfect silence. "Your High—"

"You heard me, Governor. Close the doors—and yes, that _is_ an order."

The rasp of Panaka's breath sounded in Padmé's ear. She closed her eyes. The clank of the gun grew quieter as he withdrew it, soon replaced by the shriek of closing doors.

Padmé blinked open her eyes to find Sapphira's steady gaze already on hers. "Em— _General_ Amidala," she corrected swiftly. "If I could have a word with you in private?"

Padmé nodded and followed the princess to an alcove at the back of the office. A stained glass window of Queen Amidala, dressed in a ceremonial red gown with trailing sleeves, hovered overhead. It felt almost as if Padmé's glass counterpart were gazing at her from a different time, a different place, waiting to see if she would honour Queen Amidala's legacy.

Sapphira said, "I have been in contact with your Princess Ahsoka."

Padmé almost choked on her surprise. "Ahsoka? Is she okay?"

A frown touched Princess Sapphira's lips, and Padmé's heart bobbed up into her throat. "I last spoke with her yesterday afternoon. She looked fine, albeit a bit tired, but then she hurriedly disconnected the call in the midst of our conversation. I haven't heard from her since."

Padmé worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "Why don't you comm her?"

"I wouldn't dare. She is so often in proximity to Emperor Vader that I fear it would put her in danger. I may be under the watch of Queen Kylantha, but I still possess more freedom and privacy than Princess Ahsoka. I leave it to her to determine when it is safe to call."

Padmé's eyes drifted up to Queen Amidala's image—a fan of dark hair around her head, lips painted with the Scar of Remembrance, the glint of a magnificent ruby against her forehead. "What if," she said slowly, "there was another way we could reach the Imperial Palace?"

"Excuse me, Your Highness…" Both Padmé and Princess Sapphira turned at the sound of a young woman's voice—and not Kaeden's nor Mariek's. She wore the red velvet robes of a royal advisor, and brown curls, dyed dark blonde at the tips, fell just shy of her shoulders. "I apologize for my tardiness. I was in the queen's company, but I came as soon as you… _Padmé?"_

"Sa-Saché," she whispered, her voice suddenly choked with tears.

Former queen and handmaiden barrelled into each other's arms. Saché set her forehead against Padmé's shoulder, and as Padmé threaded her arms around her friend's waist, she noticed that the younger woman was trembling. "I was so worried about you, my lady…"

"Saché, don't call me that. Please." She pulled back and held her friend at arm's length, examining her to ensure that she was all right. "I'm so relieved to see you safe."

"Mariek's been taking good care of me," Saché assured her. "After the fall of the Republic, she was technically reassigned as captain of Princess Sapphira's guard, but she's kept me out of harm's way as well." She smiled ruefully. "Being friends with you has its perks, I guess."

"Don't say that. You earned Mariek's respect on your own, _Representative_ Saché."

Without warning, Saché's smile vanished. "I heard about your parents and sister. I had to attend the memorial that Queen Kylantha held in their 'honour'. Padmé, I can't tell you how…"

Padmé shook her head, and Saché fell quiet. "This is a happy moment. Let's not spoil it."

"I'm afraid I may have to," came Princess Sapphira's apologetic voice. Padmé and Saché turned to face her, the latter of whom sank into a belated curtsy. The princess motioned almost immediately for her to stand. "We have much to discuss, General Amidala."

Saché raised an eyebrow at the title but said nothing. _I'll explain later,_ Padmé mouthed.

"First of all, I should know why you have come," Sapphira continued. "Despite Moff Panaka's claims, Queen Amidala would not return to Theed Palace simply to turn herself in."

"Based on what you told me about Ahsoka, I think you may already know," Padmé admitted. "I was hoping you would support me in rescuing her and my children from the palace."

Sapphira frowned pensively and lowered her voice. "We're already working on it."

"You and Ahsoka, you mean?"

"Yes, as well as Princess Nadila Caarino of Chandrila."

"Ah," Padmé breathed. Despite—or perhaps _because_ of—her father's devotion to the Empire, Princess Nadila had been one of the most vehement members of the Chandrilan Rebellion. Padmé couldn't say she was surprised by her involvement in Sapphira's resistance.

"Do you have a plan yet, Your Highness?" Saché asked.

"Not quite." Princess Sapphira ran an unconscious hand over her braided up-do, pursing her lips in concentration. "I would first need to reestablish a connection with the Princess Ahsoka, but as I mentioned earlier, initiating the call on my end would create all kinds of complications."

Saché bit her lip. "Do we need to contact the princess directly, or just the Imperial Palace?"

"That's what I was thinking, too," Padmé agreed. "While I lived in the palace on Coruscant, I kept a hidden camera in one of my closets. If we could perhaps establish a connection—"

"No need," Saché insisted quietly. "I think I may be able to get ahold of Sabé."

Padmé's heart fluttered at the thought of seeing one of her closest friends, even via hologram. Princess Sapphira, on the other hand, tilted her head in vague confusion. "Sabé?"

As Saché explained, Sapphira's bewilderment seemed to melt away. "Ah, yes," she said. "The woman who is currently doubling for Empress Amidala. I believe you told me this earlier."

Saché's lips quirked into a mischievous smile. "The queen is still fooled, as far as I can tell."

"Let's keep it that way," Padmé sighed. She wasn't surprised that Saché had recognized the difference between her and Sabé—all of the handmaidens could have done so at a glance—but anyone else, including Queen Kylantha, probably would have had difficulty telling them apart. At least Saché had had the good sense to tell Princess Sapphira the truth. A thought hit her then, so forcefully that Padmé nearly gasped: Did _Ahsoka_ even realize that Sabé was a decoy?

"I've been in contact with Sabé every now and then since the rise of the Empire," Saché said. "Normally it was just to feed her intel about the workings at Theed Palace, but…"

"She seems to be our best option at this point." Princess Sapphira straightened her posture and clasped her hands regally across her stomach. "Shall we attempt to reach her now?"

Five minutes later, Saché knelt before the nearest window seat with a comlink at eye level. As she gave a frustrated grunt and punched in yet another of Sabé's many comm frequencies, Queen Amidala stared down at her unblinkingly from within a stained glass world. _Patience,_ said her eyes. _Courage._ Padmé bit back a wistful sigh. Oh, to be that version of herself again…

The comlink spit a spray of blue pixels, and Saché leapt to her feet, eyes wide. "Sabé?" As if in response, the pixels flickered and converged into the form of a young woman. Her eyes darted back and forth at random, as if she had just been plunked into a frightfully unfamiliar landscape. A few curls had tumbled from the sapphire-encrusted comb that swept back her hair.

"Saché," she greeted shakily after a moment. "I apologize. I didn't expect to hear from you today, and I'm…well, I'm sure you can already tell that I'm a little bit on edge."

Whispers of nausea snaked up the back of Padmé's throat. She swallowed, took midnight velvet skirts in hand, and swept into the frame. "Why would that be, my old friend?"

Sabé blinked repeatedly, as if to ensure her eyes had not failed her. She looked away, brought the heel of her hand to her forehead. Looked back. "Padmé." Steady. Matter-of-fact. As if she were a child jabbing a finger through a picture holobook, naming each item in turn.

"Sabé." Padmé clasped her hands over her heart. "Tell me what happened."

The rasp of Sabé's inhale buzzed over the speaker. "You're…it's really you?"

"Sabé, of course it's me!"

"I just…I can't believe it." Sabé's lashes fluttered at her rapid blinking. "You're gone for months, and then…you barrel right back into my life when I need you the most." Her eyes snapped to the floor, and her chest rose with a laboured sigh. "You're not going to like this, Padmé."

"That's why I need to know."

The sentence knit a delicate cord between them, something silvery that caught the flash of moonlight, that wound all the way back to a bond forged during the occupation of Naboo. As Sabé lifted her gaze, Padmé offered a feeble smile, threaded with a hint of hope. But within her chest, her heart hurtled itself at her ribcage in desperation, over and over again.

"He beat her," Sabé gasped. The words a river, a tide, hissing past Padmé's ears too quickly to grasp, let alone understand. Words made of water—slipping through her fingers, evaporating in the heat of a hellishly bright sun. The shutters of Sabé's eyes clanged shut, as if to protect her from the harsh truth. Her gaze bore glassily ahead as she added, "Vader. Tano."

"Wh-what? When?" Terrible images had already crept from the recesses of Padmé's mind. In her periphery, she noticed Princess Sapphira shaking her head in horrified denial.

"This afternoon." Sabé clamped her hands over her mouth as life flooded back to her eyes. "I was there…not in the moment, but in the aftermath. And that isn't even…" Her eyes drifted, and Padmé realized belatedly that they had come to a stop on Saché. "That isn't all."

Seconds, minutes. Gone. Saché still the point on which Sabé's eyes converged.

 _Saché._

In Padmé's mind, shards of memory burnt their way past her subconscious. Fifteen years old and the weight of a crown upon her head, the burden of a small Mid Rim world riddled with the scars of occupation. A flight of despair, all the way to the Core, to a planet of great stone edifices and a dozen trade routes and an embarrassment of wealth—could they help them?

 _Saché._

A twelve-year-old handmaiden thrashing against a wall, a prince five years her senior towering over her, his hand on her jawline. Queen Amidala's fan flying across his face with a _snap_ that did nothing to appease her—the pure rage that scalded the backs of her eyes and her throat, made her entire body feel as though it would collapse into flames. Over thirteen years later she would watch it all again, through a holoscreen in a ratty apartment on Sullust, as the prince dragged one of her best friends across the dance floor, lust glittering in his eyes.

"Prince Vivio," Padmé spat, and still only a fraction of her disgust oozed from her words.

Thirteen years, she thought. He was _thirteen years_ older than Ahsoka.

Beside her, Saché's already-pale complexion blanched. The rosy glow fled her cheeks; even the blonde tips of her hair appeared dark in comparison to her wan skin. Gradually, she drew a trembling hand to her chest and fiddled with the brooch that held the velvet in place.

"I'm afraid so." Sabé's whispered response shuddered heavily through the room. Padmé reached for her dagger—stupid, she scolded herself. Useless. So long as the emperor lounged lightyears away, what worth did a blade have? "My lady," Sabé continued, "I'm sorry…"

"'Sorry'? For what?"

"For impersonating you without your permission…for hardly doing _anything_ after she…"

 _"_ _Sabé."_

"He threatened one of us. Rabé, I mean." Sabé's eyes had swelled to an impossible width. "He dragged her into custody and said that if I didn't play Amidala to his standards…"

"Is Yané okay?" Saché burst forth, trembling slightly as she inquired about her girlfriend.

Sabé firmed her lips into something resembling a smile. "She's safe, at least for now. She would want me to tell you that she loves you, Saché, though I'm sure you already know that."

A blush returned some of the colour to Saché's cheeks, but her posture remained coiled with unease. A bombardment of guilt burst behind Padmé's forehead: this had been all _her_ fault, _she_ was the one who had brought Saché to Crulius so soon after the occupation, so soon after the unspeakable traumas the Trade Federation had inflicted upon the captive young handmaiden. But as Padmé offered a gentle hand, palm up, Saché took it without second thought.

"So…Prince Vivio." Padmé drew the name from her lips cautiously, and this time Saché didn't flinch, though she did tighten her grip on Padmé's hand. "What did he do now?"

"For once it wasn't him, actually. Not yet, at least." Sheer revulsion dropped over Sabé's face like a curtain. "Vader has betrothed the princess to Vivio and is sending her to Crulius."

 _"_ _Crulius?"_ Padmé gasped. At least with Erosik, Ahsoka would have remained on Coruscant. "Force, he might as well ship her back to the dark ages. How much time do we have?"

"I've been trying to figure that out myself. From what I've gathered, three days."

Padmé's mouth dropped open, and her jaw grew slacker still as she tried to repeat Sabé's words. _Three days._ Before she could, however, Princess Sapphira joined her in the frame and said, "Is there any way that we on Naboo could help to extract the Princess Ahsoka?"

"Your—Your Highness!" In lieu of answering the question, Sabé slid into a hasty curtsey. "Please forgive me; if I had realized you were listening in on the conversation, I would have…"

"There is nothing to forgive, my dear Sabé. If you would please rise?"

A flash of shock crossed Sabé's face, as if she were surprised that the princess remembered her name, despite it having been repeated multiple times throughout the conversation. Nonetheless, she glided into an upright position and said, "Of course, Your Highness."

"How can we help?" Princess Sapphira repeated gently.

Sabé closed her eyes and reached to rub her temple. Finally, she said, "To be clear, Princess, I'm not yet sure if my intel is accurate. But based on what my contacts have divulged, we'd need your best pilots and a fleet of gunships at the Imperial Palace in three nights' time."

"I should be able to take care of that." Velvet rustled as both Padmé and Saché turned at Quarsh Panaka's voice. To his right stood Mariek; to his left, Kaeden and Bail. The younger girl's eyes sparkled, her lips turned up in a tiny smile. Kaeden's excitement must have been infectious, for Padmé's heart beat faster. _Had Panaka just said that he would…?_

"I fought alongside Queen Amidala in the Battle of Naboo," he declared, his eyes burning into Padmé's. "I fought against the Trade Federation and their tyrannical rule of our planet. I fought for freedom, justice, and democracy for our people. There's no reason it should be any different now." Panaka glanced to his right, and he and Mariek shared a look of understanding—even affection. "My wife, Viceroy Organa, and Miss Larte have helped me to see that."

Mariek took her husband's arm and dropped into a half-curtsey. He followed with a respectful bow of his head. "We both pledge ourselves to you, my queen," she said solemnly.

Padmé's mouth dropped open in protest. It had been a decade since she had last possessed the title of Queen of Naboo, and they no longer had any right to hold her in that regard—nor did she have any right to let them. Galactic Empress, perhaps, but Queen of Naboo?

Velvet crunched behind her before she could voice such thoughts aloud. Saché had sunk to her knees, burgundy robes fanned about her like a flower beginning to blossom. "I as well, Your Majesty," she intoned with startling formality. "You have tirelessly supported me through triumphs and traumas alike. I would follow you, my queen, to the ends of the galaxy."

Padmé pulled Saché to her feet and looked her straight in the eye. As she tried to speak, she realized tears had built in the back of her throat. "And I," she said in quiet intensity, "would follow _you,_ Saché. You are my friend, and I will always be yours. Please, never kneel to me."

Saché smiled. "I suppose I will have to settle for curtseying, then."

Padmé glanced around this group of people who had been brought together both by conscious decision and dumb luck—and, perhaps, even a touch of fate. Kaeden cracked a supportive smile before bobbing into a curtsey of her own. Bail swept majestically into a well-practiced bow. All three of the clones saluted Padmé, and at his turn, Rex winked. Even Princess Sapphira folded her hands over her heart, closed her eyes, and gave a deeply gracious nod.

And as Padmé turned around, head held high as any queen's, she felt the power of her new army radiating from behind her. Sabé's hologram watched her through brilliant eyes, and though she did not bow or curtsey, her intent shone through: _We are brave, Your Highness._

"We'll be there," Padmé promised in a low voice. She didn't think she had ever been so resolute in her intention to keep a vow. A swath of moonlight trickled through the stained glass window, lighting the whites of Queen Amidala's eyes, and Padmé noticed, for the first time, the faintest of smiles on her glass counterpart's lips. "Sabé, I swear to the Force we will be there."

* * *

Following bacta treatment, Ahsoka's broken wrist improved over the next two days—not to the extent that she could actually use her left hand, though she was now able to hide her injury with a strategically placed bracelet. Perfect for the emperor's purposes, she thought wryly.

Each morning, Vader had materialized in her rooms at precisely 0600 hours, administered the Force suppressant, and dragged her off to the medical wing of the palace. Now, minutes after her second bacta treatment, Ahsoka suffered through a particularly long breakfast. Tonight the Crulian royals, save Vivio, would depart for their planet to prepare for Ahsoka's arrival. Beside her, the prince played flirtatiously with the strands of diamonds looped around her lekku. Ahsoka held her fork in an inelegant grip and stabbed at a pear, envisioning Vivio in its place.

Tomorrow night—that would be the moment of truth. Either everyone who had wronged her would suffer her vengeance, or she would be bound to Vivio for the rest of her life.

She felt Vader watching her from the head of the table and glanced up. Something triumphant simmered in his gaze. She thought, _You don't know what I have planned for you._

Princess Nadila's promise, two days ago: _We will be there._

The Force-sanctioned pact that she had made with Vader: _I, Princess Ahsoka, pledge to cooperate with the emperor for as long as Prince Erosik's family is on Coruscant._

So many factors to take into account. If it weren't for that damned pact, she might just kill Vader and Vivio right here and now. But before she could do anything substantial, she had to lure all four of the Crulian royals off of Coruscant, or else she risked the Dark Side's retribution.

Luckily for her, three of them were scheduled to leave tonight. And that left only one.

One who was currently whispering, "Your gown, Princess." His eyes slid to the layers of pearly white skirts, split down the middle to reveal heavy folds of aquamarine silk. Veils of matching colours had been pinned to her tiara and billowed down her back. In theory, the cumbersome, long-sleeved gown was meant to resemble Crulian fashions, but it just so happened to cover up bruises quite nicely, as well. "Very…"—Vivio appeared to savour the word— _"bridal."_

Ahsoka returned to dealing vehement blows to the pear on her plate.

From directly across the table, Sabé watched her, eerily made up with Padmé's face. Her hair had been pinned into a coil, like that of a seashell, and was studded with exquisite black pearls. Ahsoka glared down at her plate, studying the rebound of light off of its gold-plated rim, but even Sabé's gaze smarted with Padmé's fire—the fire of a warrior, of someone who would not stand for being ignored. If Ahsoka gave her eyes a slight flick upward, the decoy empress hovered hazily beneath her lashes, and she could just make out the silent movement of her lips…

A clatter of porcelain sounded, and Ahsoka whirled to grip the back of her chair. The first course had ended, and servants were clearing the table of plates and cutlery. Vivio leaned closer, but as she turned back to her place setting, she found she no longer had a pear upon which to take out her anger. They were attending a matinée performance of a ballet at the Galaxies Opera House. _This_ afternoon! Wasn't she excited? She claimed unenthusiastically that she was.

Vader took her aside after breakfast and, one hand on her forearm, walked her briskly to a landing platform antechamber. Light beamed in through glass doors, shattering along the edges of five figures veiled in shadow. Tall and orderly arranged, they cut an imposing silhouette.

The emperor drew to a stop behind Ahsoka and pushed her forward. A Pau'an man slunk from the crowd, and shadow fell away to reveal golden eyes, red facial markings, and ashen skin. Even after he had halted his stride, dark robes ebbed and flowed around his ankles like something otherworldly, something _alive,_ shuddering and writhing with each breath.

"Your Majesty." He dropped into a formal bow, flourishing his wrist theatrically. Ahsoka rolled her eyes, but he caught her in the act and grinned. "Ah. This must be your little princess."

"And _you_ are?" She didn't bother to hide the suspicion in her tone.

"These, Princess, are the bodyguards who will live with you on Crulius." Vader clamped his hands over her shoulders and leaned down to whisper, "Inquisitors. Known Jedi killers."

With a near gasp, Ahsoka stiffened. _Jedi killers?_ Had Vader told them who she really was?

Probably not. The fewer people who knew, the better his chances of keeping his secret under wraps. But if he ever _did_ feel it necessary to tell, he could—and he wanted her to know it.

"Grand Inquisitor at your service, Your Highness." The Pau'an man coasted toward her and offered a hand, palm up. She did not take it. After a few seconds, he gave an overly deliberate shrug and took a step backwards. Something circular rustled against his hip, and she realized with wide eyes that it was a double-bladed lightsaber. She had never seen one before.

Vader added, "He single-handedly lead the Inquisitorius during the Siege of Alderaan."

 _Siege of Alderaan._ Was that something she was supposed to remember? Alderaan was Senator Bail Organa's planet, wasn't it? "The Inquisitorius will be accompanying us to the ballet," the emperor pressed when Ahsoka still did not say anything. "So be polite, Princess."

As they approached the royal speeder, the Grand Inquisitor fell into step beside Ahsoka. "You know, Princess," he mused, "you…remind me of someone." Without warning, he snatched her chin and turned her face toward his, studying her through narrowed eyes. "A…Jedi."

Ahsoka wrenched her chin out of his grasp with as much princessly indignation as she could muster. For once, she would prefer for this man to remain ignorant of her Jedi history; if the emperor's poorly veiled threat was anything to go by, she would be safer that way.

"A coincidence, I'm sure," she said with a glare.

Unsurprisingly, the Galaxies Opera House had put in place all security measures required for hosting an emperor and his sister. Ahsoka and Vader, trailed closely by the five Inquisitors, followed a uniformed officer up a back stairwell. To her chagrin, they arrived in their box to find the Crulian royals already waiting for them. Immediately after rising from the obligatory bow, Vivio crushed Ahsoka's hand in his and dragged her to a pair of front row seats.

For an instant, Ahsoka's eyes snared Sabé's from across the balcony. She stood resplendent in swaths of black velvet and satin, surrounded by a cluster of three hooded handmaidens. Sabé let her gaze drift over her shoulder, as if in wistful contemplation, before pivoting gradually back to her entourage. No hint of earlier, of her moving lips or silent message, as of yet to be deciphered. The skirts trundled along with her, and purplish light slanted from the ceiling, turning both intricate embroidery and black pearl jewellery to shimmering smudges of gold.

Ahsoka realized why they had come as the ballet flounced mindlessly past. The plot had been based upon Vader's version of galactic history, complete with a dramatically choreographed duel between Prince Anakin and the "invaders". During the romantic _pas de deux_ featuring Princess Ahsoka and Prince Erosik, the young ballerina rose into an arabesque, one hand angled longingly toward the sky. At the swell of wailing violins, something glorious bubbled up within Ahsoka, something _restless,_ so colossal that she felt it might burst out of her.

It was the kind of feeling, she thought, that made you believe, if only for an instant, that a precious opportunity had been opened to you; that right now, if you would only dare, you could soar beyond an invisible boundary and something better, beautiful—something _your own_ —would be waiting for you on the other side. A glance of sunlight, a sky of diamonds, a rush of music in your veins: a feeling so big, so elusive, words could only capture it in metaphor.

The yearning strung in every bone of the ballerina's body, the desperation as she grasped for the stars; it could have represented life itself. _Freedom._ That was what Ahsoka had been striving to claim for as long as she could remember, what she might have by tomorrow night.

But the moment passed; the breathless longing slipped away. Ahsoka plummeted from a world of possibilities back into a cramped auditorium seat: shoulders slanted inwards, arms drawn protectively against her chest, petticoats bunched in an itchy mass around her legs.

That evening, a cluster of handmaidens dressed her for the farewell banquet in Seklio, Lythéa, and Aedlyna's honour. The gown was full-skirted, a deceptively gauzy cloud of pearl pink and ivory. Silk roses pinned up its ruffles in scalloped layers. It must have been designed and sewn far in advance, for the long sleeves dropped off the shoulder to reveal a graphic slew of bruises. The handmaidens slathered her exposed skin with concealer, and Lyria draped on a matching silk shawl for good measure. Preservation of modesty, she said, by way of explanation.

Eirtaé helped Ahsoka onto a velvet stool, and fabric gushed enthusiastically around her. She imagined sinking into a sea of silk and tulle; she thought of disappearing, of nobody bothering to notice. Then of screaming, fighting, forcing them to hear her. Pure fantasy. Or, maybe not.

Eirtaé dipped a brush into a bottle of polish, glided it over each of Ahsoka's nails. Tiny rainbows refracted off of the glossy layers of pale pink. "Did you have a nice afternoon, Princess?"

"I suppose." A lie. "Vivio and I practiced the waltzes for the garden party tomorrow."

Eirtaé furrowed her brow. She was staring at Ahsoka's newly glittering ring finger.

Ahsoka shifted uncomfortably, shuddered. The shawl weighed heavily on her shoulders, even as that cheery array of pastel nail polish bobbed in her periphery. She was overcome by a sudden desire to smash each of those little glass bottles; to watch as their neatly contained contents bled into a disorderly lustre, right across the polished marble countertop.

"When exactly _is_ the garden party?" Eirtaé ventured, wrenching Ahsoka from _that_ particular fantasy. She blinked and swallowed—what in the Force's name had gotten into her?

"2200 hours." Ahsoka envisioned her tone as a line, flat and dispassionate. "That is when it begins. Vivio and I depart at midnight." Well, that was Vader's idea of things, anyway.

Ahsoka eased her eyes upward to find Eirtaé already watching her, head tilted slightly to the side. "We will be there," she said at last, and a different voice came to mind: Princess Nadila's. Hadn't she made the same promise? But Eirtaé was already frowning at Ahsoka's unpainted hand, and now she was snatching a nail file from the counter, grating away at the keratin.

Then, beneath the rasp of the nail file, a low swell of voice: "We are brave, Your Highness."

And what a beautifully empowered thing to say, well beyond the bounds of what might have been considered acceptable, in this twisted new galaxy, from a handmaiden—or even from an Imperial princess, an emperor's sister. What a risk for Eirtaé to take, for nothing truly concrete—unless—they were exchanging information. Yes. That was what this was, an illegal trade in secrets and hopes and promises; a network of unknown allies, of untapped potential!

Ahsoka's heart thudded dizzyingly as she leaned farther across the counter—close enough for the handmaiden to hear her mumble, "Might it be possible for you to do me a favour?"

Mischief lit Eirtaé's eyes at once, and a smirk crested the dimpled corners of her lips. "You are my princess," she said, almost impishly. "I cannot imagine that would pose a problem."

Ahsoka shot a glance over her shoulder. Two Inquisitors stood guard on either end of her doorway, steely gazes funnelled straight ahead. Though their eyes weren't glued directly _to_ her, she would still have to choose her wording carefully. Ahsoka turned back to Eirtaé, the chemical tang of lip gloss thickening at the back of her throat. She must have been subconsciously biting her bottom lip. "Do you know—" she began, but cut herself off as Eirtaé leapt to her feet.

She came to a stop before Ahsoka and stooped to her level. Apparently her tiara was crooked, her lipstick was smudged, the diamond that fell against her forehead wasn't quite centred. None of these, Ahsoka knew, had anything to do with why Eirtaé was now leaning in so close.

"Obi-Wan," Ahsoka breathed, the name barely audible. "I need to see him. Tonight."

"I'll switch you out with Sorian, once the banquet is over." The response came so matter-of-factly that they could have been discussing the weather schedule. Even as she readjusted Ahsoka's tiara, Eirtaé's hands did not so much as tremble. "You'll have to take over her shift. Think you can handle hour upon miserable hour of scrubbing the dungeon, Princess?"

The last sentence had been intended in jest, but the words flew so softly and swiftly from Eirtaé's lips that this took Ahsoka a moment to realize. "I think so," she murmured.

Sorian—the name rang a vague bell. One of Ahsoka's handmaidens, probably, though she couldn't envision her face at the moment. Probably best that she not know everyone involved in the Rebellion, anyway. Such precautions might just keep the majority of them alive.

* * *

Obi-Wan lugged his gaze over his shoulder, and a strand of hair slipped between his eyes. He felt as if an invisible weight had been wedged at the back of his neck. "Five minutes," the Gamorrean guard said tonelessly, as usual. His eyes gave not so much as a trace of sympathy. The door slammed and bolted shut, permitting only a sliver of fluorescence to shift past the cracks. Darkness surged to engulf Obi-Wan Kenobi with unprecedented hunger.

He turned. In the mirror, the ghost of light illuminated the hollows beneath his eyes, the threads of silver newly woven through his hair. His shoulders hunched toward the floor at his sigh. Five minutes, he reminded himself. From what he could gather, he at least seemed to have relative privacy; none of the other prisoners were in the communal refresher at the moment.

On his way to the shower, he passed a Togrutan girl in a simple brown dress. Her lekku lurched over one shoulder as she scrubbed at the floor. Obi-Wan could see only her back, but the robotic sharpness of her arm motions betrayed an anger tinged with exhaustion. A pang of relief—echoed, as always, by bone-deep sorrow—lanced through his chest. At least, he thought, none of the other prisoners were here to harrass her. He had seen it happen before.

Bile shot up his throat, and he choked it down in shame. He had learned to narrow his perception to the here and now—to reach for the shower faucet, to yank it to the right, to let the roar of water in his ears drown out the memories. He saw all of these moments at once, even as they remained in the infinitesimally distant future. His hand still hovered above the tap.

Qui-Gon had told him that, once. All of that nonsense about the "here and now", even on the verge of battle. What would he say if he _were_ here, if he could see Obi-Wan like this?

A manicured hand shot out of nowhere to grasp his wrist, its grip firm yet— _manicured?_

Had Obi-Wan's eyes betrayed him, too? Was he simply hallucinating that glimmer of pale pink? No one this far down in the palace could boast filed and painted fingernails, let alone a—

He glanced over his shoulder, but the servant girl had vanished. The pieces had just begun to lock together as his gaze trailed to her face, all aquamarine eyes in the semi-darkness.

"Ah—"

"Hush," she snapped in a whisper. "To you I am Sorian. We have a lot to cover."

Obi-Wan swallowed his protests and nodded, even as questions stormed his mind. Ahsoka was here? What about Padmé? Did this mean they had been recaptured—and if so, _when?_

She reached briskly past him and cranked the tap, sending water pelting like hail from the faucet. To drown out their conversation, he realized, and a flutter of pride at her insight glowed within his chest. Ahsoka led him by the wrist to the farthest corner of the refresher. A single lightbulb flickered on and off above her with an incessant _click-click,_ scattering tendrils of shadow beneath her eyes. "The emperor is sending the princess to Crulius tomorrow."

Obi-Wan blinked, thrown off guard by her bluntness. "Princess Ahsoka?"

She nodded gravely. Lines tightened around the corners of her lips.

"With Prince Erosik," he deduced, and a sinking sensation trickled through his gut.

"No. With his older brother, Crown Prince Vivio. Erosik has been…dispatched. But Emperor Vader still wanted those trade agreements, so…" Ahsoka lifted her shoulders into an overly flippant shrug, but even in the dim light, Obi-Wan could see the rage strung in her muscles. She trembled with it, this fire inside of her; she was a spring, coiled and ready to explode.

"One day," she hissed, "our Imperial princess is to be the next Queen of Crulius."

"And I take it this one is no better than Erosik?"

"Worse." Ahsoka visibly shuddered, and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "But that's not why I'm here," she added abruptly, shaking her head as if to ward off pity. "The princess has a plan. If it works, you'll be free by this time tomorrow."

"And y—and the princess, I mean?"

Ahsoka bit down on her lip. "Her plan involves some… _risk_ on her part. She has a few contingency plans up her sleeve, and she's researched the Crulian landscape as best she could. But it shouldn't come to that." She gave her head another firm shake, and her lekku jounced around her shoulders. "Anyway, right now she's more focused on doing what she can here, and"—she hesitated and pitched her voice lower—"on reversing her memory loss."

He realized belatedly that she had extended one quivering hand toward him, and he clasped it in his own. "I…," Ahsoka stammered under her breath. "I think I've found a way, Obi-Wan." A muted shimmer of hope shone within her eyes. "But I'm going to need your advice."

Obi-Wan gazed with burning pride at the closest thing he had to a daughter. "Ahsoka…," he murmured, but before he could continue, she folded herself into his embrace. She didn't, to his vague surprise, correct him on her name, and as he wrapped her in his arms, he felt her shoulders hitch with a single sob. His throat thickened. Stars, it had been so long.

But she was here, with him, in this infinite moment. And that was enough.

The here and now, as Qui-Gon had said. Perhaps this was what he had meant.

Ahsoka shifted, tilting back her head to meet his eyes. She had come to ask for his help. And of course there was only one answer Obi-Wan could give her: "Tell me everything."

* * *

Emperor Vader lifted the glass of wine to his lips and took another glance at the files stacked on his desk. According to a report from Captain Ozzel, his troops had still been unable to find Padmé on Sullust. Vader was beginning to suspect that despite the closed ports, she had found some way to escape. No matter. If Padmé really was on the loose, she would doubtless show her face tomorrow. She wouldn't want her precious Ahsoka to be shipped off to Crulius.

Vader's throat tightened inexplicably. Ahsoka—she was precious to him, too. She was _his,_ after all, not Padmé's! Padmé, the sister-in-law, the distant figure who drifted along on Vader's arm. _Princess Padmé,_ before the invasion. Then _Empress_. That's what Ahsoka had called her.

When had they become so close, without his knowledge?

Tomorrow Ahsoka would leave. It had been _his_ decision, he reminded himself, and still was; he would determine when she came back to visit, how long those visits would last. Complete control, as any self-respecting emperor would have required. He tipped back his head and took another gulp of wine—empty already? He would need to send for a servant to refill it.

Against his better judgement, he set the wine glass on the desk with a _clink_ and stared out at his office, spread before his eyes in all of its pristine splendour. Silk upholstery, bookcases carved with glossy scrolls: those invaluable reminders of power and prestige, scattered throughout the room. From the opposite wall, his late mother and father watched him, wreathed by a golden frame; before them stood his adolescent counterpart, and lovely little Princess Ahsoka.

He could remember, he thought, what had happened before that painting had been done. Had Ahsoka not dragged him from his political training, laughing in her high, youthful trill, begging him to keep her company at afternoon tea with their parents? Had she not loved him?

Why didn't she love him anymore?

A roar, an explosion of sound; his metal fist had slammed against the desk. She _did_ love him. But those damned invaders had twisted her mind. They had turned her against him!

 _Nothing happens by accident._ Someone had told him that once. Perhaps his father, Emperor Callius the Fifth? It had been his father. Must have been. Back when he was still very young, Crown Prince Anakin Skywalker, before he had taken Vader as his ceremonial name.

Nothing happened by accident—not his ascension to Galactic Emperor, not Ahsoka's recent betrothal to Prince Vivio, nothing. Not even her capture and torture at the hands of the invaders. This would serve a purpose in the long run. Ahsoka was eighteen, and an Imperial princess besides; it was time for her to serve her purpose. She would understand this one day. She would recover from what the invaders had done to her. She would love him again.

Vader shoved his elbows onto the desk and buried his head in his hands. A groan rumbled from deep within his throat. It came without warning, always: this faulty set of memories. Disgusting fantasies of the mythical Clone Wars, of a General Skywalker and his Padawan. The glint of a girl's smile, the flash of green sabres. Her retreating figure, dark against the sunset.

He had called her Snips.

He had never called her anything but Ahsoka.

Vader sat there for what could have been an hour, an eternity, his fingers tangled in his hair, his memories ping-ponging between delusion and reality. Then he sent for another drink.

* * *

 **There are a few references in this chapter to scenes that some readers might not remember, as they occurred or were mentioned in previous chapters. Here is the list in italics, in case you would like to refresh your memory:**

 _ **-The encounter between Saché and Vivio was first mentioned from Padmé's POV in chapter 27.**_

 _ **-Vader and Ahsoka made their Force-sanctioned pact in Chapter 25, before the arrival of Erosik's family on Coruscant.**_

 _ **-References to the Siege of Alderaan appear at the end of both chapters 21 and 22, as well as the beginning of 23. (This is the battle in which Vader's troops captured Luke and Leia from the Alderaanian Palace.)**_

 _ **-At the end of this chapter, Vader makes reference to looking at photos of his "family" and reminiscing about his version of the past. Ahsoka also looked at these same photos when breaking into his office in chapter 29.**_

 **And now for review responses...**

 **Cellorules: Thank you so much for your kind review. I am glad you enjoyed the character interactions. :)**

 **Nameless: Thanks for your review! I am glad to hear you are enjoying it. Yep, Vader does not have the strength to face the horrific ramifications of his actions...but I guess you will just have to wait and see what happens to him in the end. ;) I hope you enjoyed Obi-Wan's (albeit brief) appearance in this chapter; he will be showing up again soon!**

 **donutstar123: Yay, I am so glad to hear that you liked it! :)**

 **GlamGram: I think, based on your review, that you will enjoy the next chapter (hint, hint). The book I have mentioned is _Queen's Shadow_ by E.K. Johnston. It gives more backstory about Padmé and her handmaidens (including Sabé, Dormé, and Eirtaé, who feature prominently in this story, as well). I highly recommend it to any Padmé fans! In the meantime, thank you so much for your kind words.**

 **NinjaGirl1117: Thank you for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and Obi-Wan's appearance!**

 **As I mentioned earlier, the next chapter is when the action/final act of the story begin, so stay tuned. Thank you so much to all of those who take their time to write a review; your support means more to me than I can describe.**

 **Love, Isabelle**


	32. Chapter 32

**I am sorry this update has taken so long. Thank you for your understanding and patience as I grapple with challenges in my personal life.**

 **As a reminder, this is the story in which Ahsoka believes herself to be the sister of Emperor Vader, but after learning of her true identity from Padmé, rebellion ensues. In the last chapter, Padmé and her team (Bail, Kaeden, Rex, and the clones) met with Princess Isé Sapphira of Theed, who agreed to assist them in rescuing Ahsoka, Luke, and Leia. Meanwhile, on Coruscant, Ahsoka snuck in to see Obi-Wan (who has been imprisoned by the emperor) and shared with him her own escape plan. Lastly, we learned that Vader has begun to believe his _own_ lies about the past and is having difficulty distinguishing reality from make-believe.**

 **I do not own Star Wars, and reviews will be answered at the end. I am issuing another content warning; there are references to sexual harassment, drugs/alcohol, and canon-typical violence in this chapter, so please be careful while reading. However, with this chapter we enter the final arc of this story, so I hope you enjoy as the action picks up speed.**

 **Sincerely, Isabelle**

* * *

"J-type 327 Naboo starship, identify yourself."

Saché raked a hand through her hair, resisting the urge to sigh. Coruscanti checkpoints had always been a hassle, but they had only become worse upon the rise of the Empire. "This is Representative Saché of Naboo," she said into the microphone. Before they could demand that she state her business, she added, "I come in the name of Princess Isé Sapphira."

"Our records indicate that Princess Sapphira of Theed was on Coruscant less than a week ago, for Prince Erosik's funeral." The voice came in a monotone, as if its owner were reading directly from a file, before sharpening abruptly into suspicion. "Why would she send a representative so soon afterward? Wouldn't she have taken care of any business while on planet?"

And here it was: the reason that Saché had come to Coruscant. Though Padmé had insisted that she could stay on Naboo if she so chose, the wanted General Amidala couldn't simply march into the capital on her own. Kaeden Larte didn't have the status to admit them; Quarsh and Mariek Panaka had all of that status and more, but the arrival of military personnel, without the emperor's prior knowledge, might put security on edge. And, of course, Isé Sapphira had just visited Coruscant; a second sojourn, so soon, would draw unwanted attention.

Saché was simply the only member of their team who could get them past the checkpoint.

"I would be more than happy to show you a letter of approval from the princess," she said brusquely. "But if you must know, I have had arrangements to meet with Naboo's senator for quite some time now." This, of course, was a blatant lie; she had no such appointment. Saché prayed to every Nabooian goddess she knew that the officer wouldn't call her bluff.

At last—after a wait long enough to last a lifetime, of course—they said, "Scanning for additional lifeforms, Representative." Saché pursed her lips to suppress a triumphant smile. This scan was always the last step before they would admit her, and usually Saché had nobody to hide. Today she did: _nine_ somebodies, to be exact. Three clone troopers, two Nabooian military officers, a farm girl, a princess, a viceroy…and just to top it off, the Galactic Empress herself.

"Clear," said the voice over the radio. "You may now pass, Representative."

So Padmé had been right. She had promised the rest of them that the carbonite scheme would work. Her husband had used it once, she had said, to infiltrate the infamous Separatist prison—the Citadel!—during the Clone Wars. Her _husband,_ who was now Emperor Vader…

Saché piloted her ship past the checkpoint, and Coruscant's landscape exploded before her eyes in a haze of gold. The sun had begun to dip steadily below the horizon, but some of its rays escaped to glint off of spiralling skyscrapers. In the distance, the five marble towers of the Imperial Palace speared the clouds, and a tapestry of blinking speeders wove across any scrap of empty space. To think that Prince Vivio was _here,_ on this otherwise glorious planet…

Saché bit her lip at the memory of that diplomatic mission to Crulius, immediately after the occupation of Naboo. She had thought, at first, that Crulius was an incredible world, filled as it was with those legendary, stone-walled cities, each of which bustled with trade. Upon their arrival, Padmé had surreptitiously handed Saché and Yané a bag of Republic credits, and told them to enjoy themselves at the nearest market. They had run from vendor to vendor, squealing and laughing like the little girls they were, splurging—with the queen's money—on handmade jewellery and cashmere shawls. At the time, Saché had assumed the expedition was to celebrate Yané's recent fourteenth birthday; later, she would realize that the queen's decision had been more nuanced than that. Padmé had given them the opportunity to simply be children, and to recover from their shared captivity during the Trade Federation's occupation.

It had almost worked—until, at the banquet to celebrate Queen Amidala's arrival, she had caught someone's eyes on her. From her position behind Padmé's chair, Saché had lifted her hooded head to meet the gaze of…Crown Prince Vivio. To this day, she could remember how only one corner of his mouth had lifted into a smile; how a million secrets seemed to flash through his eyes in an instant. But surely he couldn't be interested in _her,_ could he? Saché was only a handmaiden, and wasn't he probably betrothed to some beautiful princess?

She had blushed and looked down. Somehow, she had liked the thought of him liking her, but hadn't wanted things to go further. How could she have? She didn't even _know_ him.

"What is your name?" he'd asked her, a day or two later, in one of the castle corridors. How had they gotten there, exactly? She could no longer remember. But they had been alone.

"Saché, Your Highness."

"Saché. Sa…ché…" He rolled the name around on his tongue, as if it were something mysterious, something enticing. Then a grin flashed across his features, and her heart contracted. "How would you like to pay a visit to my rooms tonight, Saché?"

"I—I—" What could she say? She was only twelve! And he was a _prince_.

"My father tells me, after all, that your queen is desperate for Crulius's help in rebuilding her planet. What with the Trade Federation's blockade…" The scars along Saché's body, a parting gift from her Neimoidian captors, seemed to burn at his words. Prince Vivio had pushed her against the wall—when had _that_ happened?—and brought one hand roughly beneath her jawline. "I would hate to advocate for refusing aid to the Naboo, but if I must…"

An airspeeder behind her blared its horn, and Saché startled as she realized she had nearly missed a light. Her hands left clouds of sweat on the metal of the handlebars; just reliving the memories, she had an urge to slip to the floor and retch. But nothing had come of his advances, she reminded herself; Padmé had found them before it was too late, refused any aid that King Seklio might have offered, and ordered her entire entourage immediately back to Naboo.

For some reason, that knowledge didn't make what _had_ happened any better.

 _This_ was the very reason Padmé hadn't wanted her to come to Coruscant—to protect her from Prince Vivio—but Saché had promised that her memories of him wouldn't affect the mission. Besides, she was dating Yané now. They had fallen for each other partway through Padmé's second term as queen, already bonded through their shared experience during the occupation. Though Yané, unlike Saché, had never been officially taken as a captive, she had still been trapped on Naboo, and had been the best suited to help Saché process the trauma.

 _Thirteen years,_ she thought. It had been thirteen years, and she still wasn't over _any_ of it…

She would have to refocus, Saché decided resolutely. Prince Vivio might lurk somewhere on this planet, but Yané was here as well, and Saché was determined to save her from the Empire. They could resume their life in that beautiful house on Naboo, the one that Yané had bought just for her. Maybe they could even adopt. But first, she had to remain focused on the plan.

Release Padmé from carbonite. Smuggle herself into the palace. Rescue her girlfriend.

Saché grimaced. How hard could it possibly be?

* * *

The curtains parted only the slender width of a needle; the spattering of silver beyond, narrow as it was, evoked the image of a weapon's ruthless gleam. Ahsoka peered past her one gateway to the outside world, chills billowing down her spine like chimes from a brass bell. The night air traced her skin with cool fingers, and her silk shawl was too flimsy to ward off a persistent breeze. Still, she got the sense that even had she been on some sweltering planet— _with_ a winter coat to protect her, no less—she wouldn't have been able to stop shivering.

A hand settled on her lower back, and she dragged a disdainful gaze over her shoulder. "Don't touch me, you creep," she hissed, the words even more biting on account of her anxiety.

"Now, now, Princess." Vader clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if to scold a naughty but ultimately unthreatening child. "That's no way to speak to your emperor."

From beyond the velvet drapes, the mournful wail of a cello: the opening notes of an all-too-familiar song. The handmaidens bent to gather her train, and Vader stepped to the side without another word. This was her cue, her grand entrance. "Presenting Her Imperial Highness, Princess Ahsoka Skywalker"—but she had already burst past the curtains and down a flower-strewn aisle, caged in by throngs of shimmering nobility, and the cello's haunting keen.

It was as if a silvery snow had dusted everything in sight. Astral lanterns winked against the velvety darkness, and per the dress code, all of the guests had drenched themselves in silver satins and silks. Ahsoka herself wore starry folds of diamond-embossed satin, and a train of pearl grey lace fanned out behind her, like a moonlit pool at the basin of a waterfall.

Vivio awaited her at the end of the aisle, clothed in a doublet of pale grey brocade. White and pink flower petals stirred on the wind, carrying in their wake a sickly sweet perfume. Beneath the cello's laments rose the serene gurgling of a nearby marble fountain; then the woodwinds and strings fell into an ominous wail of melody, and Vivio's arms wove a cage around her.

"Stop shaking," he said, and kissed her with a ferocity that trapped a scream in her throat.

For a moment, panic tore the plan from her mind. _Asshole!_ Ahsoka broke the kiss vehemently and tried to twist out of his arms, but he covered by throwing her into a dip. Her neck snapped backward, and her breath seized in her chest. Sabé floated upside down in her vision, the skirts of her silver gown so voluminous that they seemed to swallow her whole. She wore an intricate headdress over her curls, with strands of diamonds that fell to carve shadows along her face. Two handmaidens, draped in robes of grey velvet, flanked her, their hooded heads bowed.

Vivio yanked Ahsoka upright before she was ready, and a head rush nearly knocked her off her feet. Somewhere in the chaos, step one of her plan jostled its way to the forefront of memory. _Drug him._ The violins thinned into a chilling dissonance, and their eyes locked and held.

She knew, at these kinds of parties, that a glamourous sheen masked the nobility's more disreputable tendencies; that, out in the open air of the gardens, wrapped in a protective curtain of nightfall, they felt more inclined to pass dangerous substances amongst themselves. Her "brother" had never allowed her near such substances, of course—"not proper" was how she suspected her tutors might have explained it—but even in the early days of her awakening, she had known. She'd witnessed the riots and feverish hallucinations from afar—or, if not in attendance herself (as was often the case for _those_ parties) had overheard the whispered gossip the following morning. She knew what these drugs could do in moderation.

Surely a slightly heftier dose, if slipped into Vivio's drink before they boarded his yacht to Crulius, would knock him out long enough for her to board and launch an escape pod.

And if it killed him…well.

"Princess?" Vivio's breath already reeked of alcohol. "How 'bout a dance?"

She tilted her head deliberately, blinked. Violin bows scraped frantically across webs of strings, and nothing was as it should have been. "Your brother asked me that, once," she said.

He seized her hands and hauled her to the centre of the dance floor, where a tornado of flower petals skidded the marble ground. The moonlight brought out the gauntness of his skin, cheeks sunken like a ghost mid-scream, and he appeared, by sudden miracle, illusory. Then the breath left her lungs, he had spun her, she was woven within the spiralling lattice of a trance.

What if she tried to stop dancing, and couldn't wrench herself out of the motions?

Her body whirled and slowed, growing heavier, heavier _still,_ and time crystallized into one frozen moment as their eyes locked from across the terrace. There he stood, far removed from lifeless clusters of guests, stalking her with his golden gaze. Did he know? Did he know that, as soon as she escaped from Vivio's ship, she was coming back to finish him, once and for all?

The music erupted, wrenching her back into its fold, and Vivio caught her smoothly around the waist. "I could never love you," she warned him darkly, as Vader whisked out of sight.

"Oh?" To her disappointment, Vivio only raised an eyebrow. "I don't need you to love me."

 _Then what?_ she thought in exasperation, though she wasn't sure she wanted the answer.

Another night breeze shuddered through the gardens; the song trickled to an anguished end. Time passed, ran out, refilled with the upstart of a new melody. To her surprise, though, Vivio trundled unsteadily to the side and slumped onto a stone bench. Ahsoka perked up instantly. She slid into the open space beside him, and silver satin puffed up merrily around her.

"You look like you could use a drink," she murmured, in a voice she hoped was as smooth as liquid gold. In her true opinion, of course, Vivio should not be drinking anything more tonight; she suspected he was already mildly drunk as it was. "I could bring you one, perhaps?"

Vivio peered at her from beneath lowered eyelids, effusing a distant sort of curiosity. "A favour, you mean? That's…interesting. I thought you just said, Princess, that you hated me."

"Ah, no," she lied, mentally chastising herself for earlier as she drew out the syllables. She was _trying_ to _drug_ him; at least for the next hour or so, she should not be giving him any reason to mistrust her. "I said I could never _love_ you. How could I, Vivio, I'm still in love with your…"

She let her voice crack and clamped her hands over her mouth. She waited until Vivio had shifted uncomfortably, clearly horrified at the prospect of her bursting into tears over his brother, before easing her hands back to her lap. "Anyway," she added with deliberate raspiness, "I figured we're at least going to have to start tolerating each other from now on, aren't we?"

She offered him a tight-lipped smile, and after a moment, a lopsided grin slipped over his face—that uncanny combination of cunning and boyishness that she would forever associate with Erosik. She tightened the shawl around her shoulders to fend off a shiver. "All right, then," Vivio drawled, and leaned back against the manicured rose bushes. "Surprise me, Princess."

"I will," she promised him under her breath. Oh yes, she would indeed.

Ahsoka darted through the crowds as best she could in her hefty load of skirts, seeking out someone who could help her—one of Sabé's two handmaidens, preferably, since Eirtaé was occupied with another facet of the plan. She hated asking others to do her dirty work for her, but everyone here would know that Vader had kept her sheltered from drugs. It would draw attention if she tried to acquire them herself, and that was a risk she could not afford.

A flash of grey velvet caught her eye—a handmaiden's robes. She threw out her good hand to grasp the woman's wrist, and the handmaiden pivoted in a near panic. She was accompanied by Sabé and the second handmaiden, who tossed disinterested glances at Ahsoka before continuing on their way. The first handmaiden hesitated, as if debating whether to follow, but instead she knelt low enough that Ahsoka could make out a face beneath the hood.

"What are you _doing_ here, Princess?" Dormé demanded in a low voice.

"I need your help," Ahsoka replied simply.

Dormé cast a frazzled glance over her shoulder. Sabé and the other handmaiden were shuffling toward the back of the terrace, where a set of glass doors opened into rosy palace halls. Ahsoka got the sense that they would have been moving more briskly with Dormé beside them.

"All right, Princess," she huffed, impatience at the fringes of her tone. "What do you need?"

"You know, at these parties, how some people pass around…intoxicating substances?" At Dormé's succinct nod, she continued. "I need something that I can slip into a drink."

Dormé's eyes grew almost comically huge. "The emperor?" she hissed warily.

"No, of course not," Ahsoka scowled, offended that Dormé would assume her to be that naïve. She knew better than anyone how many taste-testers Vader employed. _"Please,_ Dormé."

The handmaiden shook her head—whether in disbelief, exhaustion, or something else entirely, Ahsoka could not decide. Dormé spared another glance over her shoulder—Sabé and her handmaiden had almost receded from sight—and then leaned back toward Ahsoka. A crafty gleam twinkled behind her eyes. "We are brave, Your Highness," she whispered—

—And stood, turned, and walked away.

Ahsoka hovered behind, her mouth hanging open in an indignant _O_. Dormé had already travelled too far for Ahsoka to call her back—not without garnering unwanted attention, at least. She blew out air through one corner of her mouth. Why would Dormé act as if she would help her and then strut off without warning? More importantly, what was she to do now?

After a moment of contemplation, she found herself drifting toward the nearest bar, a colourful beacon blazoned against folds of darkness. Most of the guests shifted to make room for her, though Lord Terro, one of Vader's advisors, asked with a smirk whether she, at such a tender age, was quite _ready_ for alcohol. "It's for my fiancé," she snapped, and this was true; Vivio would grow drunk and delirious as she remained clear-headed, tensed for an escape. The bartender reached across a polished marble counter and pressed to her palm—

Her heart stuttered, then planted itself in her throat.

Ahsoka curled her fingers around the stem of the champagne glass, and a chalky substance crumbled in her fist—most likely residue from the pills that the bartender had shoved into her hand. "Excuse me, Lord Terro," she said curtly, and glided off before he could protest.

She found refuge beneath the curved roof of a gazebo, where she could gaze out at the dance floor from a safe distance. Some duchess—or maybe a countess—was whirling drunkenly with her partner, and the surrounding crowd frothed with laughter and cheers. Ahsoka nursed the crystal champagne goblet in her lap, took a raspy breath, and dropped in the pills one by one. They sizzled into invisibility, devoured by a seemingly innocuous army of pink bubbles.

Dormé had come through after all.

"Hey, Princess." Vivio swaggered out of nowhere and plunked down beside her, draping a casual arm around her shoulders. She squirmed out from under his grasp. "That's for me?"

It took her a second to realize that he was referring to the champagne glass. "Yes. Here."

She thrust it toward him, but upon glimpsing what was inside, the prince scrunched his nose. "Champagne?" he demanded, in a tone just shy of incredulity. "You should know by now that I only ever drink the stronger stuff— _kriff_. Champagne!" he added under his breath, with a guttural scoff. He sliced his eyes in her direction, practically glowering. "Just wait. You'll learn."

Ahsoka stiffened. Rage crackled along her skin in a snap of electricity. "I'm not your—"

"Oh, shut up already, won't you, Princess? You know I didn't mean it." He plucked the glass from her hand and languidly swirled the champagne. She noticed that he held it conspicuously out of her grasp; he wanted her to know that he had something she didn't. "Your brother's never let you near alcohol, has he? Well, I'll tell you what. Since you went to all of the trouble to fetch it for me, I might let you try some, if you're good." And then he _winked,_ as if she were a young child and he the adult in power, promising a treat in exchange for cooperative behaviour.

"I'm not interested in alcohol, Vivio." Stars, she was going to be _sick_. "And my brother—"

"Your brother doesn't have to know." He shoved the rim of the glass to her lips, and a flare of panic yanked her stomach inside out. This was all a drunken game to him; he was playing with her, testing his influence—and, worse yet, enjoying it. But the pills—the drink—she had—

"…His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Vader!"

The herald's voice careened toward them just in time, and Ahsoka jerked out of Vivio's reach. Moonlight sliced toward them on an angle, catching the shimmer of her lipstick on the glass's rim. It was an eerie reminder of what could have been, had she tried to pull away only a second or two later. "Not now," she said coldly. "I'm going to go listen to our emperor speak."

Predictably enough, she found Vader silhouetted against a wall of roses and peonies, both he and his throne hoisted upward on a mahogany dais. Crowds of guests had flocked to the foot of the platform, as if reeled in by the magnet that was their emperor—or perhaps the seductive possibility of gaining his favour. At the flippant wave of his hand, they fell obediently silent.

 _So many people at his beck and call,_ she thought; and still, it was never enough.

"My subjects," Vader began, coiling his posture upward with serpentine grace. In his silver and black ensemble, a lightsaber at his hip and a platinum crown upon his head, he was all lines and edges, like the blade of a sword. "You have come tonight to wish my sister and Prince Vivio well, as they embark together on their betrothal and marriage. They bring to our mighty Empire prosperous trade routes, and in return I, the emperor, extend Crulius my favour…"

 _Vivio._ What was Ahsoka to do about Vivio? She had to lure him off planet before she could truly challenge Vader, per her pact with the emperor. Nadila Caarino had said she would wait in Coruscant's atmosphere to pick up Ahsoka's escape pod…but if Vivio refused to drink the champagne, she feared she wouldn't get the chance to board an escape pod at all…

"…So join me in applauding Princess Ahsoka for her loyalty to the Empire!"

Tingles rose along Ahsoka's neck as Vader turned his golden eyes on her, as well as every other person who crowded the garden terrace. Beneath swaths of satin skirt, her leg muscles tensed instinctively, as if to run. Soulless applause hammered the air, piercing as metal against metal, and one thought, born of paranoia, pounded behind her forehead: _He knows._

"Ah, Empress Amidala. My love." Vader tore his gaze from Ahsoka, and not a moment too soon. Sabé was climbing the dais to stand at the emperor's side, her handmaidens lingering a few paces behind to carry her train. The diamond strands that dangled from her headdress swayed around her face in the breeze. "Come sit. You missed the opening of my speech."

Vivio saddled out of the crowds to stand beside Ahsoka—still, to her surprise, clutching the crystal champagne goblet in one hand. As Sabé apologized to the emperor for her tardiness, Vivio caught Ahsoka's shocked stare and grinned. "Miss me, Princess?" he slurred.

Then he lifted the goblet to his lips and took a long sip.

Maybe he enjoyed subverting her expectations, or maybe he'd been playing with her all along, and he didn't actually mind champagne. Either way, liquid relief shot through her veins.

"Of course, it is heart-wrenching for me to give my sister over to a new family," Vader said in a monotone, as soon as Sabé had settled into her throne. "But I have faith that for the sake of her Empire, including not only myself but also her niece and nephew, Princess Leia and Prince Luke"—he caught her gaze, yellow eyes flashing meaningfully—"she will do what is ri—"

A gasp ripped through the crowd, washing away the last of Vader's words. Sabé stood on the seat of her throne, gun in hand; layers of satin formed a gleaming pool on the floor. She now wore a silver jumpsuit, elegantly accented with rubies and scarlet embroidery, and as Sabé reached with her free hand to tear off the diamond headdress, shaking out her curls—

Ahsoka nearly doubled over; her breath had come up short, as if it had collided with a brick wall on its way out of her lungs. No. No way this was happening. It couldn't be—could it?

Empress Padmé Amidala pressed the barrel of her blaster to her husband's head, her index finger trembling against the trigger. "Everyone get out," she demanded in a raw voice, but of course the nobles had already funnelled into a crush of fleeing people. One woman, in her panic, elbowed Ahsoka to the side; Padmé's vigilant gaze snapped to hers, and immediately her eyes softened, gentle warmth seeping into their chestnut brown depths. "Ahso—"

A muscular arm coiled around Ahsoka's waist, jabbing up into her ribcage as it hefted her onto someone's shoulder. She writhed and kicked at his back, but she succeeded only in losing a shoe. A double-bladed lightsaber hung from the man's hip. Ahead, Prince Vivio danced frantically through the crowds, all the while gesturing for Ahsoka's captor to follow him.

Her captor, the Grand Inquisitor—who was supposed to be her bodyguard on Crulius—

Both Prince Vivio and the Grand Inquisitor skidded to a stop at the foot of a loading ramp. It scrolled downward from a yacht whose sleek, polished exterior screamed of luxury. Vivio shouted at the Grand Inquisitor to rush Ahsoka inside, and for his pilots to prep for takeoff. Beneath the cadence of his commands echoed screams of confusion and despair.

"I need to go back," Ahsoka gasped, as the Inquisitor carried her onboard. "My brother—"

"—Will be fine, Your Highness." The Grand Inquisitor nodded at a line of uniformed guards, none of whom seemed overly surprised to see the Imperial princess slung over his shoulder. Instead, the tallest of the guards detached himself from the group and clipped down a corridor awash in glamourously dim light. The Inquisitor—and, by extension, Ahsoka—followed.

"Here are Her Highness's chambers." The guard pressed his thumb to a touchpad on the wall, and the door clicked open to admit him. He sniffed, as if offended, before adding matter-of-factly, "Your betrothed should be in to see you shortly. Welcome to Crulius, Princess."

She felt, suddenly, as if shards of ice had been stitched beneath her skin. _Welcome to Crulius._ The guard mowed his way back down the hallway; the Grand Inquisitor dumped Ahsoka inside of her newly minted chambers, as if she were a burden that he couldn't wait to be rid of.

The door slammed shut in her face, bolting out the hall light. She raggedly caught her breath, then staggered to her feet and groped for a switch. An array of chandeliers crackled to life, pelting dim light upon an imposing set of mahogany furniture. At the Imperial Palace, her suites were done entirely in wedding cake pastels, down to the rosy curtains that streamed from her four-poster bed; strands of crystals danced from her high ceiling, like stars extending their grasp toward the planet's surface. But _this_ —the gloomy colour palette, the thick brocade rugs, the wrought-iron chandeliers—spoke to an ancient privilege, steeped in centuries of precedent.

The door screamed open behind her, and she turned to see Prince Vivio looming in the doorway. Ahsoka had hoped the drugs might have taken effect by now, but he didn't appear even the slightest bit groggy. His gold-flecked eyes blazed in the dim light, and his hair was a tousled, dark cloud, like the ones that passed through the sky before a thunderstorm.

"You," he growled, "are a _terrible_ actress."

Her pulse had just enough time to take off before he came hurtling toward her—and she saw, now that he came closer, that the stain of her lipstick was absent from the rim of his champagne goblet; that the liquid inside was a viscous, dark red, that it wasn't champagne at all—

"Trying to drug me was a _very_ poorly chosen move." Vivio chucked the crystal goblet onto the floor without a second thought. The red liquid seeped lethargically from the glass, pooling on the carpet like blood. "Did you seriously believe I would accept a drink from a bride who has made no secret of her disdain toward me? Honestly, Princess. You offend my intelligence."

He must have switched out the drink she had given him for a different one. And then he had made a show of drinking it in front of her, to instill her with a false sense of ease. Even as she shook from head to toe, some insane part of her was almost impressed with his cunning.

Ahsoka kicked off her remaining shoe and backed away slowly, hands raised in a universal gesture of peace. "Perhaps, Vivio, you should've considered _why_ I might dislike you?" she stalled. Her mind was mapping out the frantic trajectories of escape routes. If she leapt onto the bed and took hold of the chandelier's wrought-iron arms, would it swing far enough to deposit her in front of the door? She didn't know. Through the thistle of panic at the back of her throat, she managed a snarky, "Facing your flaws is good for character building, you know."

Vivio cocked his head to the side, almost curiously. "I once had another fiancée who attempted this same stunt. Naturally I had her publicly beheaded the next day." He gave a condescending chuckle. "It's always the young, pretty ones who think they can get away with it, eh?"

Blood hammered just beneath her skin. _Okay okay okay._ They hadn't yet jumped to hyperspace; with her wits and quick instincts, she could still find a way to get to an escape pod. Except that her palms were flat against the wall, and Vivio was prowling exponentially closer—and just as Padmé had finally come for her, Ahsoka was on the verge of losing her all over again.

"Of course I can't execute the emperor's sister," Vivio admitted—and a flicker of movement caught Ahsoka's eye, near the back of the room. A pair of brown eyes, flashing in the dim light—a human woman had slipped past the door, and was stealing toward them on silent, nimble feet. Thick, dark curls, dyed blonde at the tips, bounced above her shoulders at the movement. She was young, around her mid-twenties—and she clutched a bejewelled dagger in her fist.

Ahsoka's eyes must have betrayed her surprise, for the unfamiliar woman pressed a gentle finger against her lips. Something in her gaze assured Ahsoka that she was on her side.

She tried to get a better impression of the stranger's intentions, but Vivio bent to her level, blocking the woman from view. His lips brushed hers as his hands sought out her hips, then wandered to the lacing at the back of her gown. "Luckily for you," he purred—and suddenly she couldn't process what was happening—"I think I know how you can make it up to m—"

He reeled backward with a strangled cry; a slice of silver—the human woman's blade—was at his neck. "Touch her again," she spat, "and I swear I _will_ slit your throat, _Your Highness."_

An inexplicable laugh rose from inside of Ahsoka. It rang hollow in the empty air, tainted with relief and confusion and disbelief. Then her Jedi instincts kicked into gear, sharp and sudden as whiplash. She snatched one of the blasters on the woman's belt, levelling it at Vivio. A rush of adrenaline sent her hands into a quivering blur. "Allow _me,"_ Ahsoka demanded darkly.

Force, how _good_ it felt to hold a weapon, to be the one in power for once—and then she let the blaster drop as the sickness of the thought hit her. The other woman seemed to have no such scruples. She released her grip on Prince Vivio, only to slam him up against the wall and press the tip of the blade beneath his chin, hard enough to draw a scarlet beading of blood.

The woman looked over her shoulder at Ahsoka. "Do you still want to do it?"

Curtains of pain had fluttered over the brunette's eyes, and Ahsoka realized that this was not her first encounter with Prince Vivio—that he had hurt her, too, in the past. If anyone in the galaxy deserved death, wasn't it this man? Ahsoka opened her mouth to respond, still unsure of what exactly she would say, but Vivio beat her to it. "Ah-Ahsoka," he stammered, and his voice gave way to a humiliating warble. He had never, she realized, addressed her by her first name before; some cynical part of her couldn't believe that he had even bothered to learn it.

"I could give you anything, _everything!"_ he pleaded. "Jewels, silks, marble palaces! I'd make you queen of one of the wealthiest planets in the galaxy." She stood frozen, her legs now pillars of stone beneath her. What made him think that he could buy her allegiance with material goods—that her "everything" was defined in terms of wealth? "Just don't let this woman—"

"'This woman'?" With the tip of her dagger, the brunette forced Vivio's chin upwards, narrowing her eyes as if to examine him. "You don't remember me," she decided at last, icily. "I should have suspected as much. In what universe would Crulius's crown prince remember an insignificant handmaiden? Even if he hit on her when she was only twelve years old."

Ahsoka's heart plummeted to the depths of her stomach, so rapidly that the world rocked.

"You—you worked for Queen Amidala." Recognition had surfaced in Vivio's eyes, and the words poured desperately from his lips. His gaze seemed to have shifted _beyond_ the unfamiliar woman, to a world no one else could see. Perhaps a realm haunted by his past sins, now finally caught up to him—with his very demise in their wake, no less. "Your name—it was—"

"Your Highnesses?" Goosebumps erupted across Ahsoka's arms as a familiar, oily voice oozed from behind her. She turned to see the Grand Inquisitor in the doorway, his eyes pulsing with flashes of scarlet. "Ah. This might explain why all of the guards have been stunned."

"I'll take him," Ahsoka hissed, launching herself at the Inquisitor before the human woman could respond. Still in mid-air, she swung one leg into a fan kick, knocking him against the wall with a vicious _crack_. Silver skirts exploded around her like ribbons of moonlight—and then the gown's weight dragged her mercilessly back to the ground. She crumpled into a crouched position, gasping for breath. The Grand Inquisitor had already peeled himself off of the wall.

"What an unfortunate wardrobe situation," he observed dryly, a sneer on his lips.

Within her chest, a spark of rage caught fire. How _dare_ he act so condescending. Ahsoka snarled and shot to her feet, sending a fist flying toward him without second thought. He caught it against one palm, but she used the moment of distraction to drive her knee into his chest. He buckled and she swung herself onto his back, looping one arm firmly around his neck.

"Ah," he whispered, and gave a hoarse laugh. "I knew it, didn't I? Ahsoka Tano. Skywalker's Padawan, hidden in plain sight. As soon as I saw you at the palace, I began to research your combat style. Difficult, with so many records erased." She ground her teeth together and made to tighten her grip. He laughed again, pitifully, before adding, "I was at your trial, you know."

"What?" she gasped—and her head slammed against the ground before any coherent thoughts could surface. The world was pinwheeling wildly around her, imprinting her vision with shadows and spots. She blinked and hauled herself onto her elbows, but the Inquisitor shoved his foot on top of her stomach, forcing her back down. Air hissed past her teeth as the corset dug into her ribcage. All it had taken was one moment of distraction, and he had seized the advantage.

"What an impressive transition," he decided. "From fugitive to princess in less than a year."

She yearned to ask him about her trial—but she also knew that that was what he expected her to do. If he had so thoroughly studied up on her, surely he was aware that she had no memory of the first seventeen years of her life. Why else would he have brought up her trial?

"Release her, Inquisitor. _Now."_

Ahsoka wrenched her head to the side, wincing as one of her lekku was crushed beneath her. The sight of Vivio, quivering pathetically on his knees with a dagger at his throat, was almost worth the pain. The stranger stood behind him, wielding her laser-sharp gaze like a weapon. "Release her, and I let you and your prince go free. A _quid pro quo,_ you might call it."

 _More like a prisoner exchange,_ Ahsoka thought, hating the fact that she was one of the hostages in this scenario. But to her surprise, the Grand Inquisitor yanked her to her feet, forced both hands—including her broken wrist—behind her back, and shoved her in the brunette's direction. "Now," the woman said, "you and _His Highness"_ —her tone betrayed the hint of a sneer at Vivio's title—"get off of this ship. And don't let me see you _ever_ again."

"This—this is ridiculous," Vivio protested weakly, moments after the woman had removed the blade from his throat. "It's my ship—you're taking my fiancée hostage on _my_ ship—"

"I'm actually being quite merciful, Your Highness. I could have just as easily killed you." The woman tentatively sheathed her dagger, as if nervous that she might need it at a moment's notice. "I suggest you take advantage of my generosity, before I change my mind."

"Your Highness," the Inquisitor said calmly, gesturing for Vivio to come with him. The prince let a blistering scowl melt over his features, directing his glare first at the human woman and then at Ahsoka, before dragging himself after the Inquisitor. The brunette turned to face Ahsoka and took her gently by the shoulders. They were approximately the same height. "Are you o—"

Ahsoka tackled her to the ground, right as the blaster bolt crashed into the wall behind them.

* * *

There were so many places Padmé would have loved to take Ahsoka, Luke, and Leia: Pamarthe, with its churning oceans and reckless pilots; Jedha, home to the legendary Temple of the Whills, not yet ravaged by the Empire; even Batuu, the anonymous Outer Rim planet where she and Anakin had followed her handmaiden, Duja, near the end of the Clone Wars.

Right now, however, she was more focused on running for her life.

Sabé snatched her wrist and pulled her behind a marble Corinthian column; a barrage of stun bolts roared through the space Padmé had occupied only a second ago. Dormé had crouched opposite the two women, her blaster in hand. "What now?" she demanded of Padmé.

The empress shook her head and lifted a weary hand to her eyes. Though the temporary blindness from carbon sickness had since worn off, some of the light sensitivity lingered. "Yané has Padmé's children," Sabé chimed in—a lifesaver, as always. "We should meet up with her and get the prince and princess to safety, before Vader can swoop in and take them."

At the thought of seeing her son and daughter, Padmé's heart seemed to swell beyond the restraints of her body. And yet she found it in herself to protest: "What about Ahsoka?"

"Saché will help her to escape. When it comes to a blaster, she's second only to Sabé," Dormé reminded her. "Besides, Princess Ahsoka can handle herself. Your children can't—"

A shot just barely missed Padmé's shoulder, and she dodged with a shaky gasp. "It seems we've overstayed our welcome," Sabé muttered under her breath, grasping Padmé's free hand and tugging her along behind her. "Come on. I think I know where we can find Yané."

The palace hallways passed as if in a dream: above her, massive crystal chandeliers strained desperately against their chains; ostentatious wainscoting, accentuated with gold-leaf, shimmered against rose-coloured marble. Not so long ago, this had been the home of the Jedi, a religious order dedicated to modest living. As Sabé and Padmé rounded a corner, the empress threw her gaze over her shoulder. Dormé had vanished. Panic wedged in her throat until she realized: Dormé must have remained behind to hold off the stormtroopers.

Abruptly, Sabé yanked Padmé into an alcove. They had arrived before two mahogany doors, adorned with archaic brass handles but crowned with a more modern marble archway.

A pensive frown touched Padmé's lips. "What makes you think that Yané's here?"

"Most of the handmaidens involved in your rebellion have used this ballroom as a base since the rise of the Empire. It's on the smaller side, so the emperor and his officers hardly ever pay it much mind. Yané would have anticipated that this is where I'd come if I needed to meet her." Sabé strode forward, gripped the brass handles, flung open the doors—and froze.

Yané was crouched on her knees before a grand piano. Behind her stood Wilhuff Tarkin, his blaster shoved against the back of her head. Dark locks had fallen from Yané's coiled updo to frame her face, and her cheeks were devoid of their usual rosy flush. But worst of all was the man who lorded over the ballroom—just another microcosm of his empire, she supposed. If it weren't humiliating enough that he'd escaped from her in the palace gardens— _while_ she held him at gunpoint, no less—the emperor having beaten her here certainly did the trick.

He perched stiffly upon the single throne that teetered on the end of the dais, its velvet backing already riddled with dust. The sight might have been pathetic, if she hadn't noticed what he held in his lap. He smirked and stroked the porcelain lid deliberately, as if it were his pet.

Padmé's breath caught. Her parents had given her that music box at age fourteen, when she had become Queen of Naboo. It should have been in the Naberries' house in Theed—the same one that Vader and his troops had burned to the ground with her mother and father still inside. To pluck from the site of her parents' graves a gift intended solely for their daughter…

He had no right, she decided, as a tornado of rage coiled within her. _No right._

"Welcome, Padmé," Emperor Vader said silkily. He glided open the lid of the music box, and a tinny melody, thrown slightly off key by the ravages of time, flooded through the ballroom. Padmé lifted a hand to her heart at the accompanying rush of nostalgia, at the slippery memories of her mother at her bedside, stroking her curls, singing her to sleep. Her shoulders hitched. "Across the Stars" was a traditional Nabooian lullaby—and a romantic ballad.

Vader grinned, rose to his feet, and said, "I have been expecting you, my love."

* * *

Ahsoka lay strewn across the brocade rug, her breaths coming in pants, her montrals still ringing from the scream of the blaster bolt. Something sticky had oozed between the fingers of her good hand…she lifted it from the woman's left shoulder, gaping in dismay as she found it soaked in blood. Beside her, as if on cue, the woman gave a muffled moan of pain.

Ahsoka's gaze snapped upward with unbridled ferocity. Vivio clutched a blaster in shaky hands—the very same blaster, Ahsoka realized numbly, that she had dropped earlier. The Grand Inquisitor stood off to one side: arms folded neatly across his chest, a smirk on his lips. He showed no intention of becoming involved, supposedly too intrigued by how the scene would play out on its own. A prince pitted against a former Jedi Padawan. How entertaining.

"What have you _done?"_ Ahsoka's voice emerged as a near snarl.

Vivio chuckled. _Put a gun in his hand,_ Ahsoka thought bitterly, _and all that cockiness rushes right back in._ "Oh, Princess. You really do amuse me sometimes. But don't you worry. Soon enough this woman will be in prison, you will be my queen, and all of _this_ will be in the past…"

He scowled on the word "this" and gestured disgustedly at the space around them. Ahsoka used her trembling hands to tear a piece of satin from the skirts of her gown. She wrapped it hastily around the brunette's left shoulder, hoping to staunch the blood flow, but Vivio pointed the gun in her direction and barked orders: "Leave her, Princess. On your feet. Hands up."

"Hands up"? What did he think, that she might produce a weapon out of thin air? Nonetheless, she did as she was told. She had never yearned so deeply for her Force connection.

"We'll contain her in a holding cell until we land on Crulius," Vivio sharply instructed the Grand Inquisitor. "If she insists on abetting a criminal, then we'll have to treat her like one."

"Your Highness, if I may…you run the risk of offending His Imperial Majesty—"

"Don't concern yourself with her brother. I promise, the princess will receive my _full_ attention following our wedding ceremony." The Inquisitor took her wrist and dragged her toward the door, and Vivio let his fingers trail down her arm as she passed. Ahsoka shuddered. How secure were the holding cells on this ship? She had no way of knowing. Maybe she could overwhelm the Inquisitor once they were alone—and, better yet, steal the lightsaber off of his person—

A shot sounded, followed by a throaty scream—a _male_ scream. By the time that Ahsoka had thrown off the Inquisitor's grip and torn around, Prince Vivio of Crulius was dead.

Of course, in the moment, she could not have definitively known this. As far as Ahsoka could tell, her thirty-something fiancé had simply tumbled to the floor, his limbs splayed about him at awkward angles. Then she noticed the blood that spurted upward through the silver brocade of his doublet. It looked so _fake,_ so fantastical, like something she might see in a holo.

She realized that she was hoping he was dead.

She shouldn't be doing that.

She couldn't stop.

The dark-haired woman had propped herself on one elbow, and had twisted her body to angle a blaster in Vivio's direction. She still clutched the weapon in her shaking right hand, her lips frozen in an _O_ of surprise, as if she had witnessed the murder rather than performing it.

Ahsoka fell to her knees at Prince Vivio's side and began to peel off his jacket. Crimson blood soaked the white silk of his undershirt; the shot had gone straight through his heart.

"I told him…I told him I'd kill him if he touched you again." The woman was shivering.

"Come on." Ahsoka freed the blaster from the brunette's grip, then looped an arm around her good shoulder and helped her to stand. "We have to get out of here, before—"

"Before _what,_ Your Highness?" The _snap-hiss_ of a lightsaber sounded, and she wheeled to face the Grand Inquisitor, who stood only a few paces away. "I'm afraid it is my responsibility to deliver you back into the hands of your brother, now that your fiancé has… _expired."_

Ahsoka pressed her lips into a bloodless line. "Really? Why should you do that?"

The Inquisitor cleared his throat and advanced towards her, sweeping open his arms as if to offer a hug. The thought nearly made her snort with laughter. "Why, Princess, I—"

"Don't say money. What are a few credits when compared to autonomy? To _power?"_

"What are you doing?" hissed the woman at her side. Ahsoka ignored her.

"The emperor would do anything to maintain his hold on authority. I should know! As his younger sister, I've borne witness to all of the protective measures he takes." She arched an eyebrow. _"Including_ withholding crucial information from his 'most trusted' agents. If he had truly had an interest in your success, wouldn't he have told you the truth about who I really am?"

Uncertainty flickered over his features and then abruptly disappeared, like a snap of electrical energy. "I think we can help each other," Ahsoka pushed. Once he seemed distracted, she risked one tiny step to the right. The brunette seemed to catch her drift, for after a few seconds, she did the same. "Vader manipulated both of us, after all. We have that in common."

"In common, you say? Well, what would—wh—Princess, get down from there at once!"

Wind whistled in Ahsoka's montrals as she shot her good hand upward, scrambling to seize one of the chandelier's wrought-iron arms. The bed that she had used as a catapult hung below her; the dark-haired woman stood on top of the mattress. "Grab onto me!" Ahsoka yelled. There was no way she could support the woman's weight with a broken wrist. The brunette grasped onto Ahsoka's skirts. As soon as she had managed to secure one arm around the princess's waist, Ahsoka propelled them forward with a kick against the headboard. Her skirts snapped violently in the air behind her; she felt like an avenging angel, come to take what was hers.

As they arced over the Inquisitor's head, she yelled, "I never got a name—"

"It's Saché!"

The door was wheeling rapidly closer. Ahsoka let go. She and Saché collapsed to the floor, and she grasped the other woman's hand to pull her past the threshold. The Inquisitor's footsteps thudded after them. Ahsoka gathered bundles of skirts in her arms as she ran, trying desperately to keep from tripping. "Escape pods should be this way!" Saché cried.

They skidded past a clump of unconscious guards and around the corner. The velvet carpeting shot toward a bay of circular panels, each with a set of controls mounted beside it. Saché jabbed at the controls and made a low sound of frustration in the back of her throat. "The pods are locked," she spat. "But hold on, I think Versé taught me how to override this…"

As Saché's fingers pounded across the controls, Ahsoka kept tentative vigil over her shoulder. According to her montrals' echolocation capabilities, the Grand Inquisitor couldn't be more than a few paces out of sight. Sure enough, the corner of a cape slid into view a moment later, like the flicker of a serpent's tongue before devouring its prey—"I got it!" Saché exclaimed.

The door to the escape pod flung itself open, and at once, Ahsoka and Saché dove for the entry, scrambling over each other's dense layers of Coruscanti satin and Nabooian velvet. As the hatch automatically clamped down, it snatched the train of Ahsoka's gown in its teeth, pinning her in place. "Kriff," she swore under her breath, reaching to yank the fabric from the door's clutch. Saché fumbled to help, but the satin slipped repeatedly from her sweaty grasp.

Far beyond the transparisteel viewport, stars burned with urgent desire, as if to call Ahsoka and Saché toward them. Ahsoka yanked the fabric taut, warring against the door's unforgiving grip—and the satin ripped, spitting her backwards to collide with the viewport. Saché hurtled herself at the opposite wall, slammed her palm against a large red control, and they waited for—

The Inquisitor's weight came thundering down the hall, muffled only by the crunch of velvet underfoot. "What's wrong?" Ahsoka gasped. She lifted a hand to her still-pulsing montrals and winced, blinking to drive hazy clouds from her vision. "Why haven't we launched?"

"The—the escape pods." Saché sounded in shock. "They must've been manually dis—"

She yanked her knees to her chest with a shriek; a crimson blade had punctured the hatch. Ahsoka watched helplessly as the lightsaber slashed through the metal in a circular motion, clearing an opening for the Inquisitor's frame to fill. "You made it all too easy for me to find you and your friend, Princess," he admonished snobbishly. Before her eyes, he dangled the scrap of silver satin, now frayed along one edge. "Now, why don't we go and find your brother?"

The Inquisitor reached for Ahsoka through the hole in the door—and froze. The ship shuddered and groaned around them, a scant prelude to their subsequent plunge into darkness.

* * *

 **donutstar123: Thank you very much for your review. I am glad you enjoyed the chapter. As always, I really appreciate your support. Things are improving for my family, thank you for asking.**

 **Darth Agony: Thank you. I'm glad you enjoy the different POVs. Writing Vader is always somewhat difficult and terrifying, but I was excited to finally get to try my hand at Obi-Wan's perspective.**

 **Nameless: No worries! I completely understand real life getting in the way. I'm glad you enjoyed both Vader's and Padmé's perspectives. The latter will feature much more prominently in the next chapter, but at least now she is on Coruscant again and in the Imperial Palace. Thank you, as always, for your continued support.**


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